


The Promise

by Mishteeshim



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, BAMF Claudia, BAMF John, BAMF Stiles, F/M, M/M, Magic, Multi, Non-Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Violence, Original Character Death(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Stiles Attracts Supernatural Creatures, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishteeshim/pseuds/Mishteeshim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Teen Wolf AU with a dark, new twist on the Little Red Riding Hood fairytale in modern times. </p><p>~</p><p>No claw shall mark, no fang shall bite, no stain of red on sacred white. </p><p>Take up your arms oh child of mine, a frozen heart shall be your sign.</p><p>Human and Beast may fall down dead, for what is the monster if not the Red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rotkäppchen story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I get a wolf mama?"
> 
> The woman blinked down at her yawning child and couldn't help but grin. "We'll talk about it when you're older. Hush if you want me to continue." the little boy pressed his lips together obediently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes I do realize that everyone is doing a Little Red, Rotkäppchen, Czerwony Kapturek, any variation of Little Red Riding Hood theme there is. Thats because its fun. I follow trends because I like them! Hopefuly my version will bring something new to the table. 
> 
> Warning, no beta, and there is considerable and unabashed use of languages that I DO NOT SPEAK. At all. Google translate is what I'm using so if you take issue with my foreign grammar please yell at Google. Google can take it. Translations provided at the ends of the chapters.

**Kozalin, Poland. Early May, 15 years ago.**

 

“Can you tell me the story again?” The boy asked as his mother pulled the worn blankets snug around him. She was a tall woman with dark hair and sun-kissed cheeks. Her thick sweater to ward off the cold softened the toned muscles of her arms but her jeans were form fitted over runner’s legs. Her smile was bright in the darkness as her son looked up expectantly with warm honey colored eyes.

“Maybe you should tell it to me this time,  _młody wilk,”_  she teased. Her accent was slightly thicker than the boys but both of them spoke fluent English. “You’ve probably memorized it by now.”

“If I’m talking then I’d  _really_  never get to sleep” the boy pouted innocently, cunning for his age of only 7 years.

The woman looked over her shoulder when she heard a soft knock a the door. Her smile grew fonder when she saw who stood there, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. “Johan, your son is trying to get out of his bedtime again.”

The tall man that leaned against the doorframe had a few inches on his wife and his shoulders were broad under the black jacket he wore. Snow dusted his tawny hair and he carried the scent from outside, meaning he’d just gotten back. He shook his head, chuckling softly as he walked into the room. “And that’s different from last night, how?” The man’s accent was rich in Slavic nature and his voice was deep.

“Just  _one_  story,” The boy pleaded, snuggling deeper into the warm blankets. “I’ll go right to bed, I promise.”

"Is that so?" Johan leaned over the bed and kissed his son’s forehead, making the boy squeeze his eyes shut and smile. The man muttered playful nothings in Czech to his son and the boy responded in kind, giggling when his father rubbed their noses together. When he finally straightened he moved on to his wife, kissing her temple till she hummed and smiled. “No horror stories, Czesława,” Johan reminded her. “He had nightmares when you told him about Baba Yaga.”

“Did not!” the boy chirped.

Czesława laughed brightly, tucking the boy in a bit more from where he’d wiggled out. “He asked for  _Rotkäppchen.”_

“Ah, the little  _Lovkyně_?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow. “He could tell it to  _you_  by now.”

The child groaned and both parents could see the eye roll. “ _Tatínek!”_

The man raised his hands in surrender, pretending to look contrite. “Well I’m clearly not wanted here. I’m heading to bed,  _mé srdce_.” He kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Early meeting tomorrow. Miecysław, don’t keep your mother up too late. Her flight is tomorrow. ”

The boy nodded and snuck his hand out of the covers to wave at his father. “Night!”

The older man just chuckled again and returned the wave before shutting the door.

Czesława looked down at her little boy and shifted her weight more comfortably on the bed, leaning on one hand to prop her up. “Alright, now how does this start again?” she asked, pointer finger tapping her chin in thought.

“A long, long time ago…” the boy began impatiently, nudging his mother’s leg with his foot.

She laughed and swatted at the blanket. “Right, I remember….

 

_A long, long time ago when beasts roamed the land, when humans and creatures waged war with iron and magic, a village gave birth to a monster. The village was surrounded by thousands of miles of enchanted woods where fairies, and elves, and spirits lived. The villagers lived in peace with the woods as they had for years._

_A young girl lived in this village and she was loved by all. Sweet, and smart, and kind. She wore a cape of white, as pure as the driven snow. The girl’s ailing Grandmother lived deep in the woods and the little girl would take the path to visit her every day._ _The path was long and passed through many dangerous places, but the little girl knew the woods and knew the creatures that lived there._

 _One bright day she put on her white hood and packed her basket with goodies and food set out for her Grandmother’s house._ _Along the way, she met a fairy who told her to go no farther, for a Beast had come upon the Wood. The little girl insisted that she must go on so they fairy gave the child a blade of pure silver for protection._

_The little girl continued and she came upon an Elf who told her to go no further, for a Beast had entered the Wood. The little girl insisted that she must continue and the Elf gave her dried flowers for protection._

_The little girl made her way down the path and soon she came upon a wolf. The wolf told her that she should go no further, for a Beast had come upon the Wood. The little girl shook her head and declined once again, for her Grandmother, who had not been feeling well, was expecting her. The wolf nodded and asked to accompany the girl the rest of the way, for her own protection. The little girl agreed and they continued down the path._

 

"Can I get a wolf mama?"

The woman blinked down at her yawning child and couldn't help but grin. "We'll talk about it when you're older. Hush if you want me to continue." the little boy pressed his lips together obediently.

 

_The wolf told the little girl that the Beast had killed his family and had been chasing him for days. He told her that the Beast was as strong as a monster, that it used to be good but had turned to rage and hate, losing itself and all it once held dear._

_The little girl listened, drawing her white cape close, suddenly feeling less than safe on the familiar path. The wolf noticed she was afraid and told her that he would protect her, she only needed to stay by his side till they got to her Grandmothers house. Bound by that promise the girls step grew surer._

_A while later a quaint cottage in the middle of the woods came into view and the girl breathed a sigh of relief. When she entered her Grandmother’s home however the little girl immediately knew something was wrong. Furniture was overturned, the drapes were ripped, and pots were shattered on the floor._ _The wolf growled at her side as she rushed in, calling for her grandmother._

_“I’m here child,” Said a raspy voice from the bed. "I didn't think you'd come today."_

_The little girl ran to the bed with the wolf at her side. “Grandmother, what happened?” she asked, looking around at the mess._

_“A Beast broke in,” the voice said, “It ate all the food and ran away.”_

_The wolf continued to growl deep in its chest and the little girl ran her hand through its thick fur. The concerned frown slipped off her face as she felt the wolfs’ rumbling shudder through her arm. From under the blankets and bonnet, a pair of bright blue eyes peered back at her._

_“Grandmother, what blue eyes you have,” she said, taking a step back from the bed as the sheets rustled._

_“Blue enough to match the sky,” the voice said._

_“What big ears you have,” the little girl said._

_“Big enough to hear all of your lovely songs, my child.”_

_The little girl took another step back and the wolf put itself between her and the bed. Staring into those blue eyes, the girl reached into her basket and withdrew the dried flowers from under the lid. “Grandmother," She said. "What sharp teeth you have…”_

_A loud growl filled the house and something huge thrashed under the blankets, revealing the blood and carnage beneath. “Just sharp enough to kill!”_

_The wolf howled deafeningly and leaped onto the bed, attacking the Beast who had concealed itself. The Beast tackled the wolf, biting and clawing viscously. The wolf snarled and snapped, bloodying its coat. The girl crushed the flowers and threw them on top of the brawling creatures. They both howled in pain, flying apart. The wolf crawled over the floor, broken and wounded to the the little girl who ran to him, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around him. She cried and begged him not to die. The wolfs’ blood stained her white cape red. “Run!” the wolf ordered._

_But the little girl declined. She couldn't leave her friend here to be killed. She made that decision and stopped her tears. Something shifted inside her then. Something that made her the same as the rest suddenly transformed._

_The Beast had killed her Grandmother. The Beast had killed the wolf’s family. The Beast had tainted her Woods._

_The little girl reached into her basket and pulled out the silver knife. Quick as a rabbit she rushed forward, cutting the Beast from navel to nose before it could even twitch. Blood poured from the wound, flooding the floor and filling the air with a copper smell. Above it the little girl could smell her Grandmothers perfume and she looked up at the Beast. “Child,” the Beast whispered. The girl watched in horror as its sharp fangs fell out, its ears flattened, and its blue eyes shrank. The Beast gurgled black blood, clawing at the girl and smearing her face with its' bloody paw that soon changed into an aged hand.  The Beast leaned close, jaws opening right next to the girl's ear. “My...how red you are,” The Beast coughed. A moment later not a Beasts body but the body of the little girls Grandmother fell to the ground and breathed its last._

_Looking down at the still body of her Grandmother, covered in the remains of creature and human alike, the girl felt no remorse, only sadness. She cleaned the knife on her cape and slipped it back inside the basket, not bothering to wipe the smeared trail of blood off her cheek. The wolf whined and licked the blood clean from the girls’ hands while her white cape was soaked with a permanent crimson stain._

 

Czesława looked down when she felt her son shift tiredly beneath her. “Was the grandmother bad?” He asked softly, eyes barely staying open. “Is that why she had to die?”

The woman shook her head, carding her fingers through her son's thick hair, dark as her own but still containing highlights of his fathers. “She lost her way,  _młody wilk._ But she was once good. The Beast  _did_  kill the little girls' grandmother and you must never forget that.”

The little boy nodded and burrowed further into his pillow.

 

 _The wolf stayed by the girls’ side from then on and she by his. She promised to protect the wolf as he had protected her, until the day she passed from this world. In the days to follow more and more Beasts came upon the woods and she met them with a steady heart and unwavering hand. The villagers came to call the little girl_ Rotkäppchen, _and her name was forgotten over time._   _For something made her different than they. Something had changed and though she was one of them she was set a part. A variant of what was normal. Perhaps it was the scar on her face, or the steel of her heart, or the wolf at her side. She never wandered into the woods without her knife and her cape remained red as the blood that had dyed it. It reminded her that there are always those who would need protecting. It reminded her that there are always Beasts in the Wood._

 

The child’s soft breaths stirred against the hand curled next to his mouth in slumber and Czesława smoothed the boys’ hair away from his face, her expression tender and content. She watched him for a few minutes, studying every mark of his face with eyes only as soft as a mothers can be. When the wind whistled softly outside the window she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

 _And from then on the woods were filled with_  Rotkäppchen's _voice wherever she and hers walked, heard by those who chose to listen._

 

_Hunter, monster, trap, and prey, what comes by night will hide by day._

_With claw, and fang, and snap, and bite, now bound and pledged by ancient rite._

_A balance kept sound for which we bleed, to fall and die till anger cedes._ _  
_

 

Behind Czesława the bedroom door opened to the dark hallway where her husband stood once again, arms crossed over his chest. He'd taken off his dark coat but he was still wearing his boots from outside. He gazed at the dark haired woman and his son with dark blue eyes that seemed to chill the darkness. Czesławas’ lips pulled apart in a sweet smile, white teeth flashing as she stroked their sleeping son’s cheek. “I thought you’d be in bed by now,” she said. “I knew you couldn’t resist this story.”

“I thought I said nothing scary,” Johan reprimanded though his tone was affectionate.

“The truth is never something to be afraid of,” Czesława corrected softly. “And he loves this story...” Her words trailed off a bit at the end and her expression grew slightly somber and a frown pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Czesława?” Johan asked softly.

The woman let out a breath and bowed her head. “He usually would have gone with me this time,” she said. “I don’t feel right being away from him. Not now of all times.”

Johan walked across the room silently and had his wife wrapped in his arms before she could even blink. She leaned back against his chest, seeking the comfort his embrace always provided. "The Base Leaders will want him close. It is tradition Czesława, you know that.”

The woman sighed though it sounded more like a growl. “I know the rules,  _Zluta_ ,” she said sharply. Johan shot her a look and she immediately gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But I’m his mother. I would have liked to be there when he presents. For moral support.”

Johan sighed a little, kissing the top of his wife’s head as he was so used to doing to calm her. “He’ll be fine. Miecysław has been training for this since he could walk and he knows your duty comes first."

The woman snorted elegantly. "He's eight, Johan."

Johan looked off to the side and finally shrugged, squeezing his wife lightly. "It might not even happen before you get back," he offered, hoping to appease her somehow.

Czesława sighed and pat her husband's arm. “I can only pray. Maybe I’ll get to come back early. We're only in this city for another month and Talia said that things have been boring back home.”

“Then maybe enjoy a little vacation before we go to Paris,” Johan teased, nuzzling his nose into his wife’s hair until she chuckled. "God knows chasing down Gargoyles in the underground isn't going to be a picnic."

“It’s not a vacation if my boys aren’t there,” she chided. “Now off to bed with you. You’ve got a meeting in the morning and Kesri will side eye me for days if you're late."

"That's because she thinks you keep me up with  _other_  things at night-"

"Out, mister!" She laughed, trying to keep her voice down.

“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Mauve,” Johan whispered, mimicking a small salute. Czesława clicked her tongue at the man and waved him off. The door shut quietly and she looked down at her boy again, her smile softening as she shook her head. She let her fingertips trail over the boys left cheek and he stirred a bit. She leaned over and placed her lips against where her finger had traced till he settled down. “Sleep tight, _młody wilk._ I'll see you again soon.” She stood up from the bed, careful not to rouse the child and as she walked to the door, she hummed to herself the rest of the verse.  

 

_No claw shall mark, no fang shall bite, no stain of red on sacred white._

_Take up your arms oh child of mine, a frozen heart shall be your sign._

_Human and Beast may fall down dead, for what is the monster if not the Red._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...so, I was going for creepy-ish with my story and poem thing. Did it work? Did I achieve a little creepy? I'm trying to work on my creepy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Rotkäppchen (German) - Little Red Riding Hood  
> młody wilk (Polish) - Little wolf  
> Lovkyně (Czech) - Huntress  
> Tatínek (Polish) - Daddy (or papa. Childs term for dad)  
> mé srdce (Czech) - My heart  
> Zluta (Czech) - Yellow (is a nick name here)


	2. The Foothills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The older man sighed and got up on his own even though the riot round had probably left his entire left leg numb judging by the way he wobbled. “Oh, shut up, you know I love you. At least I didn’t shoot you twice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. this will be a little time skippy and confusing till I get more into the story. Please don't be frustrated with me. Feel free to ask questions, but be aware that most of them will be answered in another chapter. Eeeeverything flows together. Sank you. 
> 
> no beta.

**_Carpathian Mountains, Bratislava_** , **_Slovakia. Late June, Present._**

****

The Danubian foothills rose quietly into the smaller foundations of great Carpathian Mountains. Rich foliage coated the range, tipped only at the very top by a light coating of snow and at the base golden fields of wild grass rustled in in the afternoon wind. Birds nested in the bushes, rabbits burrowed in the ground, and the occasional fox prowled the rocky crags. Visible from a certain point standing on the north side was a small scattering of houses along the hill. Further along the houses grew into a small town, leading into a small city where people lived and overbearing mothers scolded their children because _if you don’t eat all the vegetables off that plate your ears will fall off, you know._ But apart from the city, the small town, and the houses, in the foothills there was peacefully quiet. Everything was still along the hiking trails where only the wind traveled at such an early hour.

It was only fitting that the tranquility be shattered by the crack of gunfire.   

Birds squawked out in panic and took flight as a swarthy skinned woman scrambled up from her hiding spot under a rocky ledge. She was short and muscular; most of her weight settled lower on her body in her legs that were as wiry as a gymnast. She wore dirt-sullied pants, heavy black boots, and a Kevlar vest over her sweat stained t-shirt. Her bare arms were covered in smudges of mud like she’d been crawling around for the better part of the morning.

As she stood a netted camouflage blanket fell from her shoulders, snagging on the muzzle of the long rifle she carried. She shook the netting loose, cheeks reddening in anger and shock. “Oh my god!” She exclaimed as she stared down at the man sprawled out on the ground not five feet from her. “ _Jézus krisztus!”_

Błażej was flat on his back, legs curled up and gasping for breath between obscenities as he clawed at a sizeable dent on his protective vest. “Fu-ck, shoot him Ada!” The man gasped. He was large, even in the fetal position, and was just as muddied up as Ada was. He seemed to have trouble remembering how to inhale.

Ada snapped herself out of her shock enough to move her legs, booking it the few feet she needed to go so she could drop down next to the man. “Oh god, oh god! Błażej, are you okay?” she asked, voice high, hands hovering. “L-let me get the vest off you.” She tried to unbuckle one of the clasps and the man’s eyes flashed bright red as soon as she touched him. Her nostrils flared at the sharp scent of pain and her chocolate colored eyes flashed a stunning gold in response. She whipped her head around to the side, glaring, eyes searching. A snarl edged her words as she rasped out, “Czerwień, what the hell!”

Out of nowhere, hiding even from the enhanced senses of the Werewolves, a lanky figure emerged to stand out in the open. A pair of dark goggles that tufted his brown hair up in the front and sides hid half of his face. Like the other two he wore a Kevlar vest but protective guards shielded his bare arms and his combat boots extended higher with shin guards. He was fairer skinned than the other two though he was covered in about twice as much dust, giving him the overall color of brown. The rifle held tensely in his hands was more than half his generous height and was pointed right at them.

“Ada, get away from him,” Czerwień’s ordered, voice even and light, the lower half of his face set in a firm frown. His accent was subtle and imposable to place but his Hungarian was fluent.

Błażej growled, a sound that quickly turned into a groan. “Are you _insane_?” Ada cried, flailing a hand at the fallen man, fangs dropping in agitation in answer to her Alphas pained noises. She stood up and put herself between the two men. “He was on our _side_ , Czer! What’s the point of having allies if you go around shooting them in the chest!? _Dögölj meg,_ _faszfej_ and-!” A few other choice Hungarian phrases that would have made parents cover their children’s ears were snapped out as well.

When the she-wolf stepped up protectively and flashed her eyes at him, instead of raising his guard the younger man actually looked smug. That expression only lasted a breath however when, “Get _away_ from him, Ada! He’s-!” Ada couldn’t react fast enough to dodge and was blown backwards, another gunshot ripping through the air.

With a small ‘oof’ she toppled down the outcropping head over heal, a cloud of dust kicking up in her wake as she fell. She lost hold of her gun half way and it went bouncing into the bushes, which made Czerwień cringe. When she finally came to a stop after rolling a good 20 feet in a general downwards direction Ada groaned in pain as a scattering of dead leaves settled around her, dirt and twigs stuck in her disheveled hair. “ _Sunyi gazember…._ ” She clutched at her stomach and curled into a ball, coughing through her growls.

The smaller male had his crosshairs trained on the Alpha, rifle steady in his hands. “…Going to shoot you,” he finished with a long-suffering sigh, not even sparing a glance at Ada. “He’s going to shoot you.”

Back at the top of the embankment Błażej suddenly rolled to his feet with a grunt, rifle barrel smoking at his side from the last expulsion. He glanced down the hill, guilt making him shrink a little. “Sorry, baby!” he called. He didn’t look so injured anymore as he stood to his full 6’3 height, full beard making him look more like a bear than a Werewolf. A Bearwolf if you will. He cleared his throat and rubbed at the noticeable dent on his vest where Czerwień had shot him only moments before. “Christ, Czer. Could you aim a little higher next time? I always wanted a new breathing hole.”

When Czerwień’s response was to simply raise his eyebrow ever so slightly. Błażej let his own gun drop to hang from its strap as he brought his hands up, giving Czerwień a cheeky grin full of too much fang to be sincere.

The moan from the woman below sounded more pissed off than pained and she rolled onto her side, limbs dragging through leaves and dirt as the small cuts and bruises she’d accumulated on the way down started to heal. Fangs dropping she snarled once she’d fully pushed herself up into a sitting position. The fist sized intend on her vest was nestled right under her ribcage. “Błażej, you are _such_ a bastard.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, _ukochany!”_ The Alpha called sweetly, Polish accent lighter than his Hungarian Mate’s.

The woman snarled at the pet name. “Shoot him again, Czer!” Ada barked.

“Yes ma’am, Alpha mate.” Czerwień grinned and the other man’s eyes widened in apprehension, red fading out of them completely as he took a step back.

“Czer, wait, don’t-” The shot rang out and the Werewolf went down with a bullet to the thigh and a string of colorful cusses, following the same general downward path as Ada. “Arg- god _damnit_ -! Fucking bushes-! Czer you assho-!” With a particularly painful sounding thud he landed in a pile of limbs next to the Beta who’d shifted out of the way. Ada snorted out a small laugh and threw a handful of dirt on her Alpha.

Coughing up a cloud of debris Błażej rolled onto his side only to groan loudly as he rolled right over the gun that had managed to stay slung over his shoulder. He looked up at the top of the mound and leveled a glare at the other man who stood above them triumphantly with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Totally deserved it,” Czerwień sang in perfect Polish. He reached up to his ear where a small wireless earpiece was hooked and transmitting a line of communication with the others. He pressed it lightly and heard the static while the connection opened. “You’re favorite human here,” he announced. “I just killed your Alpha twice; Team Awesome wins.”

From various points in the hills rose relieved sighs and jubilant howls to which Błażej growled; “Bad Betas!!” He hollered from the ground. “No supper for you!” Błażej sneezed and a puff of dirt blew away from his face.

Ada rolled her eyes with a small shake of her head, fixing her ponytail as best she could. “Hell of a send off, aye Czer?” she called. “Maybe if you tell your Base Leaders you killed the Alpha they won’t make you Break with us.”

The young man let out a bitter laugh and slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Pretty sure they’d break _me_ then.” His voice was quiet but he knew the Wolves would hear. He pressed his earpiece again and said to the others, “Head back to Jovanas’ house and get cleaned up.”

Błażej let his head hang for a moment expression mirroring on anxious. “Ugg, Breaking. Is it really as shitty as the rumors say?”

Czerwień sat himself down on a large rock, letting his feet dangle as he looked down at the other two. “Yeah,” he admitted with a one-shoulder shrug.

Błażej sighed, sounded even more defeated and Ada played with the ends of her hair silently. “I figured,” He mumbled, only to take a quick breath and fourcibly clear the gloom from his expression. “I’ll miss you man, but I have to say I can’t _wait_ till we can go back to training that doesn’t involve live rounds.”

The Wolves knew he was rolling his eyes even with the goggles. “Puh-leez,” Czerwień called down. “It’s a rubber bullet. Suck it up wolf man.”

“It’s still a bullet, _sadysta,_ ” Błażej grumbled sullenly.

Ada rumbled at her Alpha, rubbing her sternum through her vest. “Yeah, thank you for _that_.”

The older man sighed and got up on his own even though the riot round had probably left his entire left leg numb judging by the way he wobbled. “Oh, shut up, you know I love you. At least I didn’t shoot you _twice_.”

Czerwień raised an eyebrow and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. There were light dirt rings around his eyes making him look like an amber-eyed reverse raccoon. His face revealed him to be slightly younger than the other two, maybe late teens or early twenties. “One’s a warning, two’s a promise,” he voiced. “And maybe if you hadn’t switched sides and shot my teammate point blank I would have just kicked you a little and called it even, ever think of _that_?” he asked pointedly.

“To be fair, I was trying to shoot _you_ before you shot me,” Błażej complained tiredly, rolling his neck as he started looking around the brush for Ada’s gun. “And now that I know how you guys operate I’m never putting myself in the same room as Zluta again. His ideas are hazardous to my health.”

Ada looked both offended and surprised in equal amounts. "He  _told_ you to shoot us?” she asked.

Błażej found his Mates’ rifle sticking half way out of a prickly bush and fished it out, checking it over before handing it back to the woman. “Sort of. He said shoot you if I needed to but he told me he’d give me he’d give me 400 złoty if I got even one shot on Czerwień.”

Not surprised at all Czerwień snorted, doing the math in his head. “You’d shoot me for 100 USD?” he asked, amused at the thought.

The Alpha raised a truly impressive eyebrow. “Your Base Leader is terrifying.”

The younger man waived his hand dismissively but didn’t dispute the fact. His Base Leader _was_ terrifying. He stood up from his perch on the rock. “At least you didn’t have to get his gun safety talk. Thanks for you’re enduring loyalty by the way. I feel the love.”

Błażej shrugged with a little smirk, watching Czerwień hop from rock to rock down the mound much more gracefully than they had descended, his acclimation with any terrain even better than those with actual animal tendencies and reflexes. “Extra pocket money.”

Ada scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re such an awesome Alpha.”

“Hey, you’ve never talked battled plans with that man,” Błażej argued. “He could have offered me a gumball to do it and I would have had to agree. He _looks_ nice but he’s devious.”

Czerwień jumped down from the final rock and landed next to them with way too much energy to spare after running around all day playing espionage. “And yet here you are,” he announced dramatically as he spread his arms to the side. “No cash and no balls.” He easily dodged the rather large hand that swung at the back of his head and cackled.

“So how did you know my _ex_ -fiancé was going to shoot me anyway?” Ada asked while Błażej made to chase the younger man over the uneven ground.

The bearded Alpha looked wounded but the younger man just laughed. “Ada, for the last ten minutes Błażej didn’t do a single thing to cover you. He was too busy keeping an eye on me to see when he could get a shot off. This would be okay if I were an actual enemy and he was looking for an opening, but your fiancé just so happens to be a shitty double crosser. If he’s not watching your back he’s not on your side.” Błażej just shrugged and nodded in agreement while Ada stuck out her tongue. Czerwień raised an eyebrow at the both of them and gave in. “You guys will have the most majestic wolf babies.”

He listened to the two bicker back and forth in only the way a couple happily in love can do and eventually Czerwien heard the crunch of additional footsteps coming up the path. He looked up to see the three other Betas walking towards them. They were all carting guns of various makes over their shoulders and wore protective gear similar to Ada and Błażej though they, being more recently appropriated into the Werewolf culture, were significantly bloodier and more bruised than the older two.

As they drew closer Czerwień called out to them; “I thought you guys were going back to the base.”

Jovana, almost 20 years old with eyes as blue as the day was long was as slender and tall as Ada was sturdy and petite. She had similar dark hair pulled up in a bun and tucked under a baseball cap splashed with Serbian team colors. Her lips curved into a dejected smile when she saw the human. “We all wanted to walk back with you guys. Darek has been pouting all week about you leaving.”

The atmosphere immediately sobered and Czerwień let out a small breath, crossing his arms. “I’ve already stayed a week longer than planned, Darek. You know this wasn’t supposed to be permanent.” The sandy haired Wolf next to Jovana who looked no older than her had his head bowed and wouldn’t meet his eyes. He looked like he had indeed been pouting.  

Behind the other two, Józef the youngest of them at only 13 years old, shifted anxiously as his eyes flickering between Beta gold and his natural hazel green. “You really have to go?” He hugged his rifle like a teddy bear.

“There’s nothing more for me to do here,” Czerwień said with a sad smile. “Those Omegas from up north have been taken care of and your territory has been established with the other packs in the region. You guys are safe now so you don’t need me anymore.”

All the innocence of his 13 years showed through as Józef shifted on his feet, looking suddenly worried. “Yes we do! We didn’t know how to do _anything_ before you got here! We didn’t even know about pack dynamics and what if other Werewolves comes along and challenges us and Błażej messes up some old Wolf tradition like last time-!”

“Józef!” Ada snapped suddenly. “Try not to insult the your Alpha while he’s standing right here.” Czerwień looked fondly at the older woman. Said Alpha didn’t really look offended but as the Second it was Ada’s job to check her pack mates before Błażej had to. She didn't have that instinct a few months ago. 

Unfortunately being reprimanded just upset Józef more even though he instinctively bared his neck to the higher ranking Beta. “But we weren’t even a _Pack_ before Czer came. We didn’t know a thing about Variants or–“

“To be fair, not many people know about Variants anyway,” the human interjected casually.

“- _anything_ that was going on with supernatural stuff! And now that we _actually_ work together he’s going to leave?” the boy finished, eyes wide. “Did we do something wrong?”

“Hey,” Błażej finally growled as he decided it was time to but a stop to this. His tone made Józef snap to attention and the Alpha stepped forward, staring his youngest Beta down. “Don’t even think that. You know better. We were getting our asses handed to us on silver platters but look at us now!” he motioned to his pack mates, battle tested with conviction in every move, literally armed to the teeth. “If Czer says it’s time for him to leave then it means we’ve learned all we can from him. His job with us is done.”

Jovana put her arm around the boys shoulders and drew him close, rubbing his arm in comfort while he scrubbed the back of his hand over his nose, staring at the ground. Ada came up behind her Alpha, smiling gently and touching her hand to the center of his back. “Błażej is right, _dragi,”_ she said, tone softer than when she’d snapped at the boy. “Czer has other things to do and he can’t stay with us forever. That’s not how a Variant works.” No, that wasn’t how they worked. They found a cause, made things right, and then moved on. True, some stayed, but…not many.

There was a small sniffle from Darek and the teen shot forward, wrapping his arms around Czerwień’s waist, the impact making the human stumble a bit. “I don’t want you to go to another pack,” he said. “ _We’re_ your pack!”

Czerwień’s swallowed hard as a flutter of pain pulled at the center of his chest, displaying momentarily in his amber eyes. He let his hand come to rest on Darek’s shoulder. “Hey, come on Sourwolf,” he said with a little smile. “It doesn’t work like that. I have to go. But hey!” the blond looked up at him with watery eyes. “I have it on good authority I am the best pen pal ever.” The others could help but chuckle, as despondent as the sound was, and even Darek smiled a little.

Ada’s expression sobered when she glanced at her watch. “Hey… Czer?” she said, “Your flight’s in two hours. You should get cleaned up so we can….” The sentence was left hanging. She reached out and rubbed her knuckles over the young man’s cheek, smudging the dirt further. “They’ll never let you on the plane looking like you do.” They were all covered in grime and bits of forest and their protective vests were practically crusted with the sweat to their skin.

Czerwień let out a small laugh. “Yeah, pops can’t really go out for his new job if his kid looks like he’s just crawled out from a war zone.” Joviality aside he knew they were just putting off the inevitable by skirting around the last stage of their partnership.

“Say, will we ever get to learn your real names?” Ada asked softly, already guessing the answer. “I mean…you and Zluta have done so much for us and since we...might not see you again....”

The young man shook his head, looking truly sorry for the fact. “Sorry pup. No-go on that one. It’s different every time we move.” The older woman didn’t even looked insulted at the nickname and instead just gave the man a small understanding smile.

“Do you know who your next charge is?” Darek asked quietly, sticking close to the human’s side like maybe he'd be brought along on the plane unnoticed if be pretended to be the mans third limb. “Is it…will it be another Werewolf pack?”

Czerwień’s grip tightened a fraction on the strap of his gun. “Not sure until I get there.” There was no blip in his heartbeat to signal a lie to the Wolves.

Błażej’s let out a sudden bark of a laugh, breaking the gloomy atmosphere like a thunderclap and they all blinked at him in surprise. “Oh my god,” the Alpha repeated with an obnoxious grin. “ _Gun safety talk._ I totally get it now.”

It took a moment for Czerwień to even remember what he’d said before but then laughter rang out in the dry mountains when he gave the older man a shove to his already bruised chest. With slightly lighter hearts they made their way down the foothills together for the last time.

****

**_Bratislava Airport, Bratislava, Slovakia, later that night._ **

The engines hummed in the background just behind the soft roar of the air conditioning pumping into the narrow cabin. There were maybe 20 other people on board the small plane, all quiet and ready for a long flight. Some were already settling down to sleep and somewhere flicking on their overhead lights, reading or checking their phones before takeoff.

It hadn’t taken more than half and hour to clean up and do away with the heavy combat boots, fatigues, Kevlar and protective bracers labeling him a soldier. As a civilian Czerwień was dressed in a fitted black sweatshirt and dark blue jeans, both of which hugged his tall lean frame but didn’t give away any of the muscle underneath. His foot tapped on the floor restlessly, drawing attention to the bright red convers on his feet. Free from dirt and dust the small brown moles that speckled his face and neck and no doubt the rest of his body were visible. His messy brown hair had been washed clean and styled back, exposing a faint but thick scar that cut from his eyebrow into his hairline. He was slouched in the chair now, a sullen expression on his face.

Closing his whisky colored eyes he listened as the stewardess spoke pleasant Polish over the intercom, reminding everyone that cell phones should be turned off and all carry-on baggage should be stowed away. She switched to Hungarian a moment later to repeat the message and he mouthed along with her words under his breath. He’d heard this script one too many times.

It was going to be a long flight.

“Czerwień?”

The young man opened his eyes when he felt a warm hand rest on his arm and looked to the side. The older man seated next to him was dressed in a casual button down shirt and slacks had more lines on his face than he used to but his dark blue eyes were as sharp as ever.

“It’s not Czerwień anymore. In 10 hours and we’ll be in America,” the younger man reminded quietly. “It’s Stiles now, remember?”

The older man nodded with a bare hint of a smile. “I still think that’s an awful nickname. You have some paperwork in place as Miecysław Genim Stilinski so why not use that again?”

Stiles sighed. “Im not changing my name on paper, but no self-respecting 23 year old introduces themselves as Miecysław to a room full of other self-respecting adults. Americans can't pronounce it right anyway.”

The older man huffed out a laugh. “Still, _Stiles_ Stilinski? People will think I’m a cruel parent.”

Stiles reached up and rubbed his eyes, sighing softly. “Which one should I use then, Sir?” came a tired-sounding response. “I’ve got one for every country so take your pick.”

The older man sighed as well. “Don’t be like that.”

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered. He knew his father had high hopes for this move, wanting them to start over. Stiles just couldn’t bring himself to be excited.

The older man hummed a little, reclining his seat the few inches that it allowed. “You’ll have to get used to calling me _dad_ again, kid. John, at the least. Think you’re up to it?”

The younger man stared at the seat in front of him. “Your American accent is atrocious, _dad,”_ he deadpanned. It wasn’t really, but Stiles just felt like being stubborn.

John wisely chose to ignore him. “This will be good for us.”

The younger man nodded but remained silent.

“You said goodbye to the Tylka Pack before you left?”

Stiles nodded again.

“And you officialized the Breaking?”

“Of course I did,” Stiles replied testily, looking out the window. He hated that his Base Leader, father or not, even had to ask that. He wouldn’t have been nearly as depressed if he hadn’t Broke with Błażej’s Pack. Thank god he hadn't formally Declared to them or he would have been devastated. 

“How did they take it?” John asked, pulling out the Skymall magazine and flipping through absentmindedly.

Stiles expression grew gloomier. How did _anyone_ take the severing of a Variants bonding (even a pseudo one) with them? It sucked. It was like telling your best friends since birth _well, I had fun, but we’re never going to see each other again. Good luck!_ He'd only been with the pack for a few months but still...he'd been one of them. It felt like a piece of him was cut out and thrown on the ground and then stomped all over with muddy boots. Just like the last time. 

“We had a final training session up in the mountains by Jovanas’ house and I left them some notes to read up on in case they get officially challenged. At least they know now that punching another Alpha in the face at a formal meeting is bad manners.” He watched as the taxi lights passed outside and the plane took a turn on the runway. Józef’s frown only broke into tears when Stiles ruffled his hair like he’d done so many times before and Darek had let out the most heartbreaking whine. Even Ada had cried. That was like a punch to the throat. “They’re still young,” Stiles muttered, “but…they’ll be okay.”

“Will _you?”_ the older man asked knowingly. He didn’t press when Stiles didn’t answer.

The lights of the city were starting to glow in the darkness and Stiles imagined he could hear howls. He hadn’t the heart to tell them that he was moving so he could quit; start over. He was done with Werewolves. He was done with everything. He had to be done. He couldn’t do it anymore.

He’d miss them.

He felt a strong hand tighten around his arm. “It will be good for us,” John said again, more surely this time. “No matter how much moving around we did you and your mom always called _that_ place home.”

Stiles still didn’t say anything and instead chose to stare out the window as the planes engines roared to life, speeding them down the tarmac. Home. Yeah. Maybe that place could be home again.

 

* * *

 

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Early August, 16 years ago.** _

 

While Laura did her best to ignore the world by listening to her music too loud on the couch, Derek lay on the floor trying to do homework like a responsible kid. He didn’t understand why she needed it on that loud and right next to her ears. She could have heard the music in another room if she wanted to. Heck, she could have been outside the house and her enhanced hearing would have picked up the lyrics word for word. Derek made a bet with himself that she was going to lose hear hearing before she graduated college and she'd be the deafest Werewolf in the house. 

His hand paused over a page in his textbook when he raised his nose in the air and sniffed. That woman was here again; the one with the pretty blue pendant. He didn’t talk to her much but she was always nice and his mom and dad were happy when she came around. He heard light footsteps coming up the front porch, squeaking on that last board right before the door.

His mother was already rushing down the hallway and opened the door with a bright smile evident in her voice. “Hi Claudia! Oh, who’s that there behind you? My, haven’t you gotten big!”

The scent of warm vanilla drifted over to him, mingled with the scent of honey and grass. The kid had come with her this time. Derek’s nose twitched. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d seen the boy.

"Derek, Laura, come say hello to Claudia and Micky,” He heard his mother call. “They just got back from school,” she said a little more quietly to her friend. Laura groaned a little and turned so that her face was in the cushions. Derek got to his feet.

There was a light laugh from the front as Derek made his way over and his mother's friend spoke. “Talia, really, his first name isn’t that hard to pronounce. Your accent isn’t _that_ bad.”

Talia barked out a laugh. “It’s bad enough that I will never attempt it again and for the sake of our friendship don’t make me. Now come on in, I just made some tea. Ah, Derek, there’s a good boy. Glad to see one of my kids has manners. You remember Micky right....”

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hungarian:  
> Jézus krisztus! = Jesus christ!  
> Dögölj meg = drop dead  
> faszfej = dickhead  
> Sunyi gazember = sneaky bastard 
> 
> Polish:  
> ukochany = lover, sweetheart, beloved  
> sadysta = sadist
> 
> Serbian:  
> dragi = darling? (sweetish thing)
> 
> I will apologize EVERY SINGLE TIME for this.


	3. Back again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God. The suburbs. He and his father were suburbians. That was just depressing.

**_Beacon hills, California, USA. Present time_**.

 

After the flight John gave Stiles the customary rundown of the scenario, much like he would do if they were working. Stiles listened and tried not to let his bullshit meter explode.

Officially the Stilinskis’ came to Beacon Hills because of a job transfer. The family had sued to travel here years ago for the summer, but had stopped when Mrs. Stilinski passed away in a car accident. Johnathan Stilinski was a very trim looking 47-year-old former police officer of a small town. He had an impressive record and apparently didn’t even need to interview for the job when the old Sheriff decided to retire early. (Shut it Stiles. The old Sheriff was not threatened out of his job.) Johns’ 20-year-old son (only on paper Stiles but try not to get your Sheriff father in trouble for underage drinking) had been traveling abroad when they decided to settle down in the smaller town where the family still owned property. Not much was known about him seeing as mostly kept to himself but he would be enrolled in BH community college to finish out his degree in Law Enforcement, no doubt to follow in his fathers footsteps (stop laughing Stiles. I’m aware of the irony).

They unpacked everything from their large SUV in less than four hours and passed out in the living room of their yet to be aired out house before dawn even broke. There were a few things that would be shipped to them but those boxes wouldn’t arrive till later in the week. All they had to do was set up some dishes (disposable at this point), claim rooms, put away some clothes, and unload the gear. Easy enough.

They came in the middle of the night on purpose. Everyone was asleep and no one saw the new neighbors unloading boxes and bags and finally the heavy black cases from the trunks of the cars. Sleek, sturdy, locked black cases with spray-painted white letters on them.

The actual move had been rather painless. They didn’t have much to take with them and everything they’d left behind wasn’t important. Apart from his dad now working a regular Joe job and Stiles pretending he was three years younger than he was (something about john accidentally miss-writing a number when he was forging the young mans school transfer papers and being too lazy to start over) the biggest change for Stiles was going to be attending school. The paperwork for him entering college in the middle of the semester as a junior had been filled out weeks before and Stiles had been sent a review packet, which, of course, he never reviewed. There was no need for it seeing as he’d been home schooled past a college level education already and then some. The real world was a wonderful, cruel tutor. Still, he had to take an aptitude test anyway which would have automatically placed him in all AP classes but for the fact he’d methodically answered some questions incorrectly in every subject. All except science and literature though. He liked those two subjects after all and if he was going to be forced to be in one building for 7 or more hours out of the day he was going to have to find a way to challenge himself somehow. Thank god he wouldn’t have to really try in any of the physical education classes that his degree required. He could complete an obstacle course blindfolded.

On the first official morning as Stilinski and son, Stiles and John woke up at 6o’clock and ate breakfast together, standing at the kitchen counter because they didn’t have furniture yet. Normally they would have started out the day with a run, or some kind of training regiment that they’d grown accustomed to moving from base to base over the years, but they weren’t on a base now, as Stiles was so firmly reminded of when he awoke in the blue painted room of his childhood summer home. 14 some years of  dust had gathered in the corners and the lights didn’t work because they had yet to turn the power on.

Stiles all but dragged himself out of bed, the weight of the last few days settling on his shoulders. He heard his father moving about down the hall and took a breath to fortify himself before hopping up and immediately dropping to the floor to do some pushups. If he was feeling lethargic and a little depressed from just waking up in this house he wondered what his father was feeling, staying in the same room that he and his mother shared. Some of her things were probably still in the closet.

About twenty minutes later Stiles headed downstairs looking considerably perkier now that his blood was pumping after some exercise and a hot shower. John was already in the kitchen, reading last weeks paper that was slightly crinkled from having sat outside in the sun for so long. John didn’t look up as his son entered the kitchen but tossed something with a shiny wrapper his way. “Breakfast,” He said. They hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet so they were stuck with the granola bars that had been in the glove box of the SUV for god knows how long.

John was dressed in a freshly pressed uniform complete with badge and radio and Stiles didn’t bother to hide his smirk.

“County  _Sheriff_ ,” he said, tearing open the wrapper. “I know it’s hard to give up your place of higher authority in order to come here, but is subtlety not a thing you’ve heard of? How do we lay low if you’re supposed to be an upstanding pillar of the community?”

John gave his son a raised eyebrow in response, pleased to see that some of his humor had come back after a few hours of rest. “I used to work in law enforcement before I became a Base Leader. Not all of us are as gung-ho as you are about helping every wayward Pack, Fae, and Coven we cross paths with.” Stiles snorted. “So I was able to take on a civilian job when I was younger. And nice try, but my rank as a Base Leader still holds so let's watch the sass."

Stiles scoffed a bit. “Brown is so not your color.”

“You’re one to talk,” John replied, eyeing his son’s own wardrobe choices critically. “Plaid, Stiles? _Really_? And you said _my_ American stereotypes were bad.” The young man looked like a skinny lumberjack.

Stiles looked down at the long-sleeved green plaid shirt, blue jeans, and quippy t-shirt he’d chosen for himself. He’d even left his hair styled down so it would cover part of the scar on his temple and to top it off he had a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.  Either way, it was a far cry from his attire only a few hours and a day ago. “What? It’s not like I could show up in tactical gear. Besides,” He brushed some imaginary dirt off his sleeve. “I rock plaid.”

John just bit into his granola and chose to ignore that. He knew the choice was right though. Stiles had been trained to dress as a weapon when he could, so that everything, every decision, had a function. The oversized clothing and long sleeves hid what was underneath it and the glasses took the sharpness away from Stiles amber gaze. The scars would have been odd enough to explain and John didn’t need an uneasy professor talking to one of the councilors on campus, thinking Stiles was getting into fights or had some sort of social degenerate phase to work through. Some things you just can’t explain to people without getting some concerned phone calls. So Stiles choice in clothing was accurate. He was going for harmless, and he looked harmless.

“You want to look into changing your Adderall dose today?” John asked, changing the topic.

Stiles grimaced a little, scratching his head. “I suppose,” he said. Now that he didn’t need to remain hyper-aware all the time he’d need to lower his medication a bit or he’d drive himself crazy in the suburbs. God. The Suburbs. He and his father were suburbians. That was just depressing. “I took a half of my normal dose when I woke up so I’ll just play it by ear.” Normally hearing that their kid was self-medicating sent up alarms but John just nodded in agreement.

The two of them were quiet while they ate, listening to the sound of birds waking up outside the kitchen windows where the remnants of a long since dead garden remained. Weeds had sprung up over the years leaving it wild but some perennial flowers were starting to come up despite the lack of upkeep. John saw his boy gazing out the window with a far-off look in his eye, expression unreadable. “Hey,” he said, getting his attention. The older man’s voice was gentle and low. “I know it's going to take some getting used to but we can make it work here. Even if you decide it's just a small break you deserve some time away from it all."

Stiles remained silent. He knew his dad had decided to move back here mostly for his sake, which made him feel all sorts of guilty and irritated at the same time. He knew he needed a break but he could never just bring himself to admit it. Stiles knew he'd been burning at both ends for quite a while now. All the Base Leaders were proud as hell and the other Variants looked up to him but his dad? Well, as proud as he was as a Base Leader, as a father he was worried. 

"It’s quiet here," John went on, looking out the window as well. "The reports say nothing big has happened for a long time.”

Stiles felt his back tense. A ‘long time’ still didn’t seem long enough.

Stiles swallowed the mouthful of granola he’d been chewing and just nodded. He tossed the wrapper in the trash and grabbed his bag off the counter. “Have fun at work,” He said. “Save kittens from trees, damsels in distress, dragons, all that.”

"Let me see your bag.” Stiles made a face as he stopped in his tracks with his back turned to his father. “Hop to it, soldier.”

Stiles jerked the bag off his shoulder and turned around, setting it on the table. John started to rummage through the pockets, checking the flaps and seams. “Books, notepad, pencils, calculator, ah ha!” He withdrew his hand and with it came a compact Smith & Wesson and spare extended magazine. “Stiles, you cannot bring a semiautomatic weapon onto a college campus.”

" _You_ get to carry a gun.”

“No.”

“But what if-?”

"Civilian!” John interrupted, rubbing his temple. “Civilian 20-year-old college students studying Law Enforcement do not bring semiautomatic weapons to campus on their first day of school.”

Stiles huffed and snatched his bag back from his father. “Fine,” he said, zipping the bag back up. “But I’m keeping the buck knife. _Blbec.”_

“What buck knife?” Stiles was already heading out the door and John called, “Behave! That’s an order!” The door slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Czech:  
> blbec = Jerk


	4. Meeting the Argents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles unease only grew when a young man passing him fixed eyes on his shirt and grinned, flashed him two thumbs up and called out, “Yo, Captain!” Stiles froze and looked down at the red, white, and blue circle on his chest. Oh god. His shirt was culturally significant. It was a recognizable thing to strangers. He thought he was just being patriotic. He was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, per usual. 
> 
> Been a rough few weeks for me. Had to put my dog down. It was terrible. 
> 
> See end notes for translations.

* * *

  

_**Lyon, France. Mid May, 15 years ago.** _

The phone ran just as Johan yawned loudly shutting the door on to his son's room. Three hours. That was how long it had taken Miecysław to fall asleep. It was only going to get worse as the time for his presenting grew closer. The restlessness, the inability to concentrate, the need to get up and do something. Find something. The boy was already rubbing at his left cheek like it _itched,_ leaving the pale skin slightly red. He'd taken to asking what his mark would look like and Johan made a game out of it in hopes of making his life easier, saying that if he kept scratching at it and didn't get any sleep it would turn out as a tiny dot just like the rest of his moles. That seemed to horrify the boy who wanted nothing more than to have the same stunning red claw markings that both his parents had formed when they presented as Variants, just like the little girl from his mother's stories. He practically forced himself to sleep after that.

The ringing continued as the Johan made his way into the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the counter. _"Bonjour_ ?” he answered with another yawn, hoping he didn’t need to trace this number and strangle whoever decided it was a good idea to call at in the middle of the night.

 _“Dobry wieczór, mój kochanek!”_   The connection was a little faint but he could hear the womans smile from thousands of miles away.

“Czesława…” Johan started, only for his wife to interrupt quickly.

 _“Ah, it’s_ Claudia _now. American, remember?”_

Johan sighed but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. His wife was always gung-ho about a new name wherever they went. She loved the different personas; how she was known differently by each group she helped. It was like a personal memory left behind for her and them. He hoped their son took after that aspect if only to exercise his overactive imagination. “Yes, dear,” he conceded with a roll of his eyes as he pulled a chair out and sat down at the kitchen table. “I wasn’t expecting your call till tomorrow. You've only been gone for10 days."

 _"A lot can happen in 10 days, Johan,"_ was her stubborn reply.

The man pretended to sigh in exasperation. "Were you this paranoid when I married you?”

There was a feigned gasp on the other end of the line. _“Johan Styczyński, as a mother I am allowed to be paranoid at all times."_ And yes, they were in their line of work. One had to be paranoid when they'd done and seen the things they had. _"Now, is there any news with Miecysław?”_

Johan smiled fondly at the door he'd just closed, knowing their boy was wrapped up in blankets with his face buried in his pillow. “Nothing new to report; just the regular restlessness.”

 _“Good."_ She really did sound relieved too and Johan knew exactly why. On a good day, Miecysław was hyperactive. Now he was bordering on vibrating out of his skin if he sat still too long.  _"Judging by your enthusiastic greeting I take it you're in Europe?_ " Claudia inquired. 

The man's dark blue eyes trailed around the kitchen and stopped at a half-open window framed by sheer curtains. The sky was dark but glittering lights drew a majestic suggestion of the expansive but tightly packed antiquated buildings outside. The breeze that filtered in smelled of old stone and the bakery just down the street. “We landed in Lyon two days ago. We rented that same duplex we stayed in a few years back. Noir kept it vacant for us."

_"How is the old man? I've been meaning to call him."_

"Apparently the sentiment is mutual," Johan smirked, making a mental note to tell the 35-year-old Base Leader that his wife thought he was old. "Noir says you should try to scrap your Jeep while you’re in America and use the money to buy a real car.”

_“Well, he can shove that thought right back up his as-“_

“He’s still a Base Leader, Mauve,” Johan reminded with a smile.

Claudia huffed in annoyance but it wasn't all that heated. _“He knows that Jeep is my second baby and I’d sooner scrap his favorite crossbow than it. Come up with something witty in French to say back to him. He always laughs at my accent.”_

That made Johan laugh. “It is pretty atrocious." 

 _“My French is lovely and I'm withholding sex for a week when I get back. So,_ va te faire foutre vous! _"_

"You're so classy," Johan mused lovingly.

 _"It's why you married me,"_ Claudia teased back. _"Is my number one baby still awake?”_

Johan glanced at the watch on his wrist, raising an eyebrow. “It’s 1am here.”

There was a small pause. _“…So, is he awake?”_

Johan snorted and rubbed his hand over his face. His wife knew their boy so well. “I got him to bed just before you called and I’m not waking him up. He's training with Noir's new recruits in the morning." 

He heard Claudia sigh longingly. _“It seems like only yesterday he was learning how to disassemble your .45 and now he’s training with the big kids. Our little boy is growing up.”_

Johan chuckled again and leaned back in the chair, a smile on his face. “It _was_ only last week I taught him how to dismantle my .45. He can do it in less than two minutes now.”

 _“Aww,”_ Claudia cooed.

“Speaking of growing up, how are the Hales?” Johan asked, changing topics as he fought back another yawn. “Everything well over there?”

The fondness in Claudia's voice was instantaneous. _"Oh, Talia and James's kids are growing up so fast. Laura is such a lovely girl and she's already got the Alpha thing down pat. Cora has become her Beta minion. She's sort of a little monster but she’s so cute she can get away with it. Derek shot up three inches since I saw him last. He looks just as grumpy as his dad. I think he was bummed that our little Gen didn't come with me this time."_

Johan smiled listening to his wife talk about her friends family. She went on about those kids almost as fondly as she did her own son. "Did you tell them why he wasn’t there?” He asked. 

_“We think it's better to wait till they're a little older before we spring the whole; your-mommy's'-friend-is-actually-a-Variant-who-is-soul-bonded-to-protect-you-and-the-rest-of-the-Pack-till-the-end-of-time, talk. I told Talia and James though. She’s trying to convince me to go back early but it wouldn’t feel right.”_

A small frown pulled at the corner of the Johans mouth. “Is something going on?” He asked, his voice pitched a bit lower.

Claudia made a humming noise that she did when she was thinking. He heard some papers rustling over the phone and he knew the woman was flipping through the local paper. _“Remember that report you got about a family of Hunters in the California area a while back?”_

“The Argents,” Johan supplied with a short nod. They weren’t radicals by any means but the head of the family, Gerard, was known for some…less than unsavory ways of handling Werewolves.

_“Well they've officially moved to Beacon Hills.”_

Johan swore under his breath. “Are they giving you problems?”

 _“I haven’t met them,”_ Claudia admitted, sounding a little put out that she’d been denied that particular confrontation. _“But Talia mentioned that Gerard’s kids go to high school with Laura. I have no doubt he’s grooming them to be his homicidal little protégés if the rumors we've heard about him are true."_

“Are you going to take any action?” Johan asked, wondering if he’d need to speak to the other Base Leaders about this. Claudia had every right as a Variant to do what she thought necessary to protect her charges but dealing with Hunters was a little risky. They tended to have their own rules.

 _“Not yet,”_ Claudia replied. _“But Derek’s entering the high school at the end of summer and he’s a little more trusting than Talia realizes. I’ll need to wait for a legitimate reason to step in.”_

Johan pressed his lips together, frown deepening. He figured he might as well take advantage of the fact that he was in France if they were dealing with Argents. "I'll talk to Noir and I’ll see what I can find out about the kids. The Argents like to start their training young so they may have records somewhere. Do what you need to Mauve, I trust your judgment, but be careful.”

 _“I’m always careful, Zluta.”_ The formal names were due to the seriousness of the conversation but the woman’s tone was gentle. “Tęsknię za Tobą, _Johan.”_ He heard a faint kissing noise over the phone and touched his fingertip to the receiver, closing his eyes as he imagined his wife’s soft lips. _“Kiss_ my młody wilk _for me_.”

“I will, _mé srdce_ _.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present Time.** _

 

Stiles knew that not everyone had the survivalist upbringing he’d been blessed with so he learned very young that appearances could and usually were deceiving. For example, sometimes an open field had a sniper perched in a tree 100 yards away. Sometimes the glass of water was laced with a drop of ricin. Sometimes the little old man following you was planning on pulling the sword from his cane and stabbing you through the eye. Naturally, this philosophy extended to vehicles. Not that all vehicles were rigged to bring about bodily harm but they weren’t always what they seemed to be. The faded Buick might belong to a middle-aged mother of three that regularly participated in midnight séances in the woods and the trunk was just perfect for transporting their monthly ritual sacrifice of half a deer. So Stiles definitely knew the old saying about appearances and approached everything and everyone with a healthy dose of paranoia and skepticism that tended to reveal itself as sarcasm and sass.

 _Despite_ knowing all of this, however, even Stiles recognized that his Jeep looked like Dr. Frankenstein pieced it together. Ada would have demanded to have it set on fire before she set foot in it and his father had taken one glance at it and offered to let him have the SUV.

Stiles knew the Jeep wasn’t pretty but it had been his mom’s Jeep; something she drove with equal care and abandon whenever she was in Beacon Hills. So for the last decade the Jeep had been locked up in the garage, covered with a drop cloth and a layer of dust, smelling of the sweet lavender satchels his mother had hung on the mirror all those years ago. She always brought some with her whenever they moved and kept one hanging around her neck next to her favorite necklace. It was sentimental. Therefore, ultimately, Stiles was fine with the Jeep as it cruised down the street perhaps a little louder than necessary, coughing up an alarming amount of exhaust every few blocks. He was perfectly fine with it. It ran and it was comfortable. Everyone else could stare all they wanted and then they could kiss his ass.

Or at least that was what Stiles had to keep telling himself because the staring became a little unnerving as soon as he pulled into the campus parking lot.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d parked right next to a polished silver Porsche. The Jeep looked like powder blue scrap next to it. Actually, most of the cars in the parking lot were nice and shiny, none less than 5 years old (unless it was a near mint condition classic of course). Jesus, even the motorcycles cost more than what his Jeep was worth in parts. Stiles put a little something extra into slamming his door closed. Suburbs.

The campus was small with four large buildings, an athletic field, and training center. The engraved letters above the double doors of the main building spelled out  _Beacon Hills Community College_  and a flag with the schools colors stuck out from a pole just beside it, waving cheerily in the breeze. A mental schematic pulled up in Stiles mind, having memorized the layout of the building and grounds on the flight over from Poland. The exteriors of the buildings were simple, seemingly made up of brick and floor to ceiling windows; like if they got enough light in there it wouldn’t feel so much like a prison. It was sort of working. Stiles had seen prisons and prisons did not have nice windows.

He paused a moment, amber eyes watching a group of noisy men and women in matching jerseys wander past, one of them shaking pompoms and another a giant foam finger. Stiles was almost desperate as he tried to recall every bullshitting session he’d had with Błażej’s Pack where they talked movies, sports, and bitched about the latest episode of _Vampire Diaries_. He hadn’t paid it much mind at the time because Sookie’s repetitive supernaturally inclined love life seemed grossly unimportant when you were having dinner with a whole coven of real Vampires that evening.

In all, Stiles felt a little underprepared. He could face down a feral Omega within nothing but an unsharpened toothbrush –yes, _un_ sharpened because you can still stab someone with a blunt object it just _hurts_ more- and come out on top but god help him if he had to face being _normal_. Going _Voter_ , as his fellow Variants would say. Because civilians did mundane things like that. Voting. Talking things over with their fellow civilians, coming to a consensus based on respect, mutual agreement, democracy, love, and the greater good.

Variants did not. 

There were a dozen meditative techniques Stiles could have employed to get a grip but there was something else that wouldn't let him. Something purely Variant that just didn't sit still. A tingling across the left side of his face like someone gently caressing him with long nails. The hidden mark; something that signaled when the supernatural was near; something that let others know what they were, apart from human. Stiles reached his hand up and rubbed his cheek, frowning to himself. The damn thing had been itching since he got out of the Jeep and it was most definitely concerning. He was already planning on catching up on some research when he got home and was curious to find out if his dad had gotten the full briefing about any Weres or Fae in the area. If they were going to be living here it would be helpful to know if he’d run into anyone that he’d rather avoid.

Stiles unease only grew when a young man passing him fixed eyes on his shirt and grinned, flashed him two thumbs up and called out, “Yo, Captain!” Stiles froze and looked down at the red, white, and blue circle on his chest. Oh god. His shirt was culturally significant. It was a recognizable thing to strangers. He thought he was just being patriotic. He was screwed.

While wondering if he should hop on the nearest computer and do some last-minute Googeling on this ‘Captain’ to avoid further confusion, a skateboarder rolled past missing him by a few inches and Stiles had to physically stop himself from sticking out his arm and close-lining the guy. The act of restraining himself manifested as a quick intake of breath and a small jump as he skirted back and glared. He heard someone behind him chuckle at his reaction. _Civilian, civilian, civilian,_ he chanted in his head. Civilians do not knock strangers off their skateboards and traumatize their voice box.

Rubbing the back of his neck and letting out a slow breath Stiles made his way through the crowds, fingertips brushing the edges of his hair to make sure his scar was adequately covered, just in case. Clothing, Jeep, general suspicious and newly established jumpy nature aside, Stiles was sincerely hoping he’d remain invisible. He knew it wasn’t entirely plausible once word got out that he was the son of the new Sheriff (thanks again for that social stigma, Pops). On the other hand, he could pray that people avoided him for that very reason. New kid was the son of the man that was no doubt going to be responsible for breaking up half their underage drinking parties? Maybe that was reason enough to avoid him. God, he hoped for avoidance. Even if he _had_ started at the beginning of the term, gotten acclimated to the lifestyle and _not_ moved in the middle of the night only to start a brand new shiny school career the next morning, he would have been obviously and painfully out of place. So here he could only hope to blend into the wall without camouflage. _Here_ he wanted to be no one. No one special. No one dangerous. No one carrying a semiautomatic weapon -though, now he _really_ wasn’t someone carrying a semi-automatic weapon; thanks John. He was a new student in a new town. He didn’t have to insert himself into anyone’s life to keep him or her from dying. He didn’t have to settle territory disputes, didn’t have to train anyone, and didn’t have to jump head first into a dangerous situation to keep someone’s throat from being torn out. He didn’t have to let anyone here know anything about him. As different as it was from his entire 23 years of life prior, it was strangely liberating to be a nobody.

Someone running past bumped his shoulder just as he opened the doors and Stiles nearly had a heart attack. He had to close his eyes and take a breath to keep from introducing the nearest person's kneecap to his heel. He needed to get his Adderall dosage figured out a.s.a.p. before he got suspended for violent outbursts and possible dismemberment. He pulled open the heavy door with ease and stepped inside the air-conditioned building. The halls were reasonably packed with loitering students in between classes. From the ages of 18 to around 26 years old some were camped out on benches with books, others were walking around with food, and some were absorbed by something on their phones or laptops. 

As much as Stiles tried to concentrate on what he was supposed to do and not do, his mind wandered. He found that it was a little bit harder to flip his switch to 'off' and his eyes flicked towards the exits and nearby rooms, wondering what kind of alarm system the buildings had. Anything less than Tyco was a no-go and he would demand to take a semi with him tomorrow, lawman father be damned. He wished there weren’t so many windows. At least there were some security cameras. Probably land line. Oh god, it was probably only a live feed with no playback. 

Mind buzzing with what-ifs and worst case scenarios Stiles started to remember that he had a schedule to follow. A class schedule. Which he still had to get. “Where the hell is Admissions...” Stiles found himself muttering, scanning the halls and doorplates and finding less than helpful labels like Student Financial Aid and Records Office.

“Around the corner.”

Stiles spun around when a sweet sounding voice spooked him from behind. He found himself face to face with a 20 something slender brunette woman with dimples cherubs would kill for. He was almost reminded of Ada the way she smiled so openly at him. “Huh?” was his response. Not because he was startled by the bright grin, he _wasn’t_ , but because he hadn’t heard her sneak up on him. Damnit, Adderall.

“The Admissions Office?” the young woman replied sweetly with a grin. “It’s right around the corner.” She pointed for good measure down a hallway and off to the side where, seriously, no one would look for it. “Third door on the left.”

“Oh, right, thanks,” Stiles said, frowning a bit as he turned to leave.

“You’re new right?” Stiles glanced over his shoulder and gave a small nod, wondering just how popular this girl had to be for her to spot a new kid on a college campus. The girl smiled brightly and held out her hand. “I’m Allison.”

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French:  
> Bonjour= hello. (duh.)  
> Va te faire foutre vous = go fuck yourself. (she says this lovingly...)
> 
> Polish:  
> Dobry wieczór, mój kochanek! = good evening, my lover!  
> Tęsknię za Tobą = I miss you.  
> mymłody wilk = little wolf
> 
> Czech:  
> mé srdce = my heart


	5. Class introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young man hesitated for a moment, looking at the woman unsurely before he nodded and took a breath, long fingers tapping on the strap of his backpack. “Well, I’m Stiles, um Stillinski. My dad and I just moved here. I lived abroad for a while so I’m not really familiar with the whole…” he made a motion with his hand at the classroom and glanced at the teacher. “…All this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think none of these translations are correct. Beg pardon >> just go with it.
> 
> Also, I think I might suck at classroom scenes....

Stiles turned to face the young woman and reached out to shake her hand. Out of habit- damned weapons checking _habit-_ he ended up wrapping his long fingers around her forearm just above her wrist. The moment they made contact Stiles blinked in surprise. His skin wasn’t exactly tingling but the woman obviously had some sort of contact with the supernatural. It was like…second-hand supernatural.

He looked her over a bit more carefully from behind his thick-rimmed glasses, senses buzzing. 5’7, athletic build, strong arms from what he could feel, and long legs like a dancer. Or runner. Her fingers were calloused. Guns? Maybe knives? It was hard to tell just by touch. He wasn’t worried just yet but Jesus he didn’t want to deal with this on his first day.

“Nice to meet you, Alison,” he replied with a nod

Unperturbed by his failure to offer his name Allison looked down at their hands clasped at the wrist firmly. “Likewise,” she said with an amused smile. “That’s certainly an interesting handshake to go for. Checking for a pulse?”

Faltering for only a second, Stiles returned the smile. “Safety first,” he said. “Vampires were a thing at my last school so I can’t be too careful.” It wasn’t totally a lie. There _were_ Vampires in Italy and he _had_ tracked one into a high school. Besides, it was better than admitting ‘ _no, just wanted to make sure you didn’t have anything stabby hidden up your sleeve.’_

A glint of curiosity sparked in the Allison’s eyes and she laughed brightly as they let go of each other. “Vampires? Hmm, well, that’s good to know, um….” She was clearly waiting for Stiles to introduce himself while he wondered just how rude it would be to walk away without a backwards glance. Before he acted on that particular thought however Allison was distracted by a cheerful voice calling out her name.

Stiles heard the pattering of feet on the tile and a short young woman with raven black hair sprinted towards and then past them with hurried words spilling past her lips. _“Allison! Don’t be late for class I’ll see you at lunch we’re getting pizza!”_ And then she disappeared into another classroom, come and gone like a breath of wind.

Blinking, Stiles catalogued what he’d noticed. 5’4, Japanese, long black hair, sweet face, talkative and full of an unmistakable electric energy that had something in deep inside Stiles gut reacting out of instinct. The side of his face tingled like static had run over him.

Allison waved quickly and called back, “I won’t be late!” she turned her brilliant smile back to Stiles. “That was my friend, Kira,” she explained.

Stiles nodded, pulling his eyes away from the almost electric trail he could sense. “She’s…certainly chipper.” Stiles adjusted his glasses a bit and glanced at the ground, hiding the small frown on his lips. _Kira_ was now on his list of people he may have to try and avoid.

Allison laughed again and scratched behind her ear shyly. “Yeah. We keep telling her to form a Glee club or something so she can burn off the excess energy. Apparently track and field isn’t enough.” That had Stiles putting Kira on the back burner. Glee club? What the hell was that? He hoped it wasn’t an important thing college kids should know.

“Sounds fun,” was all Stiles could say.

The two of them were soon overshadowed and Stiles full on flinched when a deep voice behind him – _above_ him as it were- rumbled out; “Hey, Allison. Erica says she’s skipping her Renaissance Literature class today.” Stiles glasses slipped down his nose as he looked over his shoulder, amber eyes wide and shocked and oh my god that buzzing he felt on his skin was unmistakably familiar now and he was _not_ cool with it. He gazed up and tried not to glare at the over 6 foot tall, dark skinned, broad shouldered man who’s expression was apathetic as he glanced down at Stiles and gave a polite nod.

“Something about the urge to rip his face off,” The tall man continued in a deep voice. “So that means I’m skipping my afternoon class as well. Join us at the field for practice?” His eye strayed down to Stiles again and Stiles just stared at the taller man whose height rivaled Błażejs. The side of his cheek was itching like mad and he wanted out, out, _out_ of this conversation please! Did Allison _know_ she was friends with a Kitsune _and_ a Werewolf?  

Allison however was unimpressed by the man’s impressive stature. “She couldn’t have asked me in like, five minutes?” she inquired with a raised eyebrow, glancing at her watch.

The taller man shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if she was going to show up for your class either.”

Allison shook her head, rolling her eyes though the gesture was more fond than exasperated. “Sorry, I’ve got an exam this afternoon which I will _not_ be skipping. Isaac might want to go so text him. We’re all still on for the meeting tonight though so I’ll see you there.” The giant nodded and slipped past them with far too much grace for someone that size. Stiles watched him go, resisting the urge to rub his check while simultaneously telling himself that playing sick on his first day would not go well. It figured he’d meet a Werewolf right off the bat. He wasn’t sure how to approach this now. He wasn’t here working so he couldn’t exactly ask the man right out if he was an Omega or if he was part of a pack. He also didn’t want to blurt out any secrets in front of Alison in case she didn’t know about her friend. But seriously, where there was one Werewolf, more were sure to show up.

“And that was Boyd,” Alison explained, attention back on Stiles who snapped out of his daze. “He and Erica are sort of joined at the hip.”

“Oh.” After a pause. “Dating?” Stiles asked, more curious as to why Allison was explaining this to a total stranger rather than about the answer itself. He wondered about her thoughts on self-preservation.

“Practically married,” Allison grinned. “Say, what’s you’re first class?” She went on. “I can walk with you if it’s on the way to mine. We can protect each other from Vampires.” Her eyes creased mischievously at the edges.

“No idea actually,” Stiles admitted, wondering if Allison had made it her job to personally befriend everyone at school, supernatural and human alike. “It was sort of a last minute move so Admissions didn’t mail my schedule to me.” His tone was slightly apologetic as he took a step back, pushing his glasses up on his nose again. “So I should go get that now. And uh, seeing as you haven’t joined the legions of the undead and all you’re free to go and like, enjoy the sunlight and silver jewelry. See you around.” He hurried past the rush of students towards the Admissions office without even waiting for her response.

 

\--------

 

“Vampires?” Scott repeated once Allison had filled them in.

Allison still had a smile on her face. “Vampires,” she echoed with a nod. The rest of the class starting to settle into their seats, filtering into the classroom quicker as the minutes ticked by. It as an intermediate level class so it wasn’t very large but the classroom allowed for a little more noise echo making it easy for them to talk without being overheard. In high school they all worried about doing something to let their secret –not so secret- lives slip but it was much easier now that they had their shifts under control and weren’t under constant threat anymore. Still, shit happened, and while they had a few supernatural friends in town that might be willing to back them up, they were few and far between and most tried to avoid them.

“You think Vampires were really at his old school?” Scott wondered.

Allison gave him a rather pitying look though it was a legitimate question. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have joked about it if he’d run into a real one.” Her expression grew contemplative. “He did know about the silver though. Most people think that’s only for Werewolves.”  Despite the jumpy demeanor, his socially awkward handshake and a rudimentary knowledge of Vampiric lore, Allison already seemed to like the guy. Maybe that was  _why_  she liked the guy

A sigh came from Lydia who was sitting next to Allison with a compact open in front of her on the table. She touched up her makeup as she spoke. “Your love for dorks is just sad,” she pointed out, clearly judging her friend's idea of interesting. “Anyone who can pick up a book can find out about Vampires aversion to silver.” Lydia pressed her lips together after applying a layer of tinted balm.

Allison laughed. “Oh, come on! We hear all sorts of goofy theories from occult enthusiasts around here and hardly any of them get facts right. You remember that self-proclaimed Wiccan that thought to summon a spirit was as easy as drawing a chalk circle on the ground in chanting some butchered Latin?”

Lydia made a face, expression blanking as she recalled the whole conversation. “Yes. That was embarrassing for everyone,” she admitted. “But that’s still not a reason for us to be interested.”

Allison was insistent and wrapped her knuckles on the table for emphasis. “He even did the wrist grab thing like the knights do in old movies. I haven’t had someone do that to me since my family reunion." Scott snorted and Allison rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying let's bring him home to Derek but you have to admit its a little interesting.”

“I have to admit nothing,” Lydia sniffed.

“So the freak thinks he’s a medieval knight,” Jackson interrupted, not even glancing up from texting on his phone. He was seated on the other side of Lydia. "Greenberg thinks he's a pod person. Go make him your charity case."

Scott rolled his eyes in exasperation, already feeling the need to defend a stranger against Jackson’s giant bag of asshole. Maybe it was the whole lizard thing rearing its ugly green head or the fact that he’d just been that way since birth. “Seriously man? How have you not graduated from being a douchbag yet? High school was _years_ ago.” 

“Well who the hell grabs someone’s _wrists_ when they go in for a handshake?” Jackson snapped, clearly not up for talking about his personality flaws. "I mean, apart from your weird family Allison," he added as an afterthought. 

Lydia let out a small huff, flipping a curl of hair over her shoulder. “He sounds like a dweeb trying to establish a mysterious new guy persona before everyone finds out how plain and boring he is,” she scoffed. 

“Don’t be mean, Lydia,” Allison interjected with a placating smile. “It was cute.”

“What _ever_ ,” declared Erica who _had_ decided to show up for class and sat at the other end of the table. She had been listening to all of them with her head resting on the table. She looked up, flyaway blonde tresses framing her tired face. “Did anyone do last nights homework? I fell asleep.”

“On who,” Lydia smirked, earning her a toothy grin from the blonde as the professor walked into the room.

Everyone slowly made their way to their seats and Erica squirmed a little, legs barely covered by her skirt. “Seriously, Lydia? Allison? Did you guys do the assignment?” she asked again, keeping her voice a bit lower.

“What about me?” Scott said, looking offended.

Erica rolled her eyes. “I want the assignment I copy to be _correct,_ Scott.”

“Ouch,” was Scott’s not very insulting reply. The truth was the truth. Math wasn’t his friend and it was a miracle he’d passed his classes in high school.

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent all night in the woods with Derek getting thrown at trees you’d have your coursework done on time,” Lydia said. She could afford to go to Pack meetings in the middle of the week because she had the highest GPA in the school and this was only a filler class for her, but she knew some of the others would just use the meetings and training as an excuse to get away from their assignments, just like in high school. Stupid in her opinion since these were classes that they were actually _paying_ to take. The redhead completely shot down Erica’s pleading stare the moment it started. “No. I’m banning all of you. My notes are off limits so do your own work.”

Scott practically whined, looking devastated, like someone had told him _Firefly_ was canceled. Again. “I thought Kira was _joking_ about that!”

At the front of the room the professor clapped her hands together a few times, calling for attention. “Alright, settle down! Class is starting so everyone take your seats. Hey, Matt, put away your phone. You too Whitmore. Thank you. Okay, all settled? Wonderful! Please hand your assignments from yesterday to the front, thank you.” A rustle of movement went through the room as people dug in their bags or flipped through their folders and the professor continued. “As you know, these assignments are worth 15% of your final grade. I hope everyone finished last night.”

Erica let out a little groan, feeling the older woman's eyes on her. “Well, I’m fucked," she muttered.

A knock on the classroom door made the professor pause, looking to the side. “Pardon me, Professor Naomi.” The head of the Mathematics Department, a tall, mousy looking man with a little beard, poked his head in and looked around the room before he stepped inside. “Sorry for the interruption,” he said to his colleague. “You’ve got a new transfer student.”

Allison looked towards the door and she nudged Lydia, eyes lighting up. “Hey, that’s him,” she whispered excitedly. Scott and Erica looked up as well. Lydia almost scoffed at what she saw. Lightly styled hair hanging over his eyes, graphic Captain America tee-shirt, thick-rimmed glasses, red Convers: a hipster if she ever saw one and god if that wasn’t so painfully overdone and far from her realm of interest. Even if he was sort of cute. A little. His nose was a good feature.

“He looks like a twink,” Jackson said bluntly, barely even glancing up.

“So do you, Jackssssson,” Erica hissed quietly.

Allison had to stomp her foot on Jackson’s to stop his growling. “What are you _five_?” The Huntress snapped. Jackson just shifted away sullenly and Erica rolled her eyes.

Up front the young man fidgeted a little bit, shifting from foot to foot like he couldn’t stay still and there was a clear frown on his face as though he didn't like the attention. “He smells nervous,” Erica noted, eyes narrowing as she looked the newcomer up and down. She sounded pleased with this fact.

The Professor cleared her throat as she took a sheet of paper the yougn man handed her. “Okay everyone, looks we’ve got a new student,” she started, looking down at the sheet and balking. “This is Mr. Mick….Mich…isi…y…? I-I’m sorry, how do you pronounce this?” The Professor glanced at the young man who took pity on her like he was used to it.

“Stiles,” he said with an understanding nod. “Just Stiles is fine.”

Lydia tore her eyes away from her mirror and raised an eyebrow, something managing to catch her attention. There was a _very_ faint hint of an accent there- she had an ear for voices- and the linguist in her recognizing the arrangement of consonants the Professor had butchered. _European, maybe,_ she wondered. There weren’t many foreign exchange students in BH college barring the two freshman from Korea and a senior from Nepal. Community college and all that.

The professor looked relieved. “Well, I am Professor Naomi Hudson, but everyone calls me Professor Naomi, or just Naomi if you think you’re above what the rest of the world considers proper classroom etiquette.” Her eyes fixed pointedly to a particular table in the room and Allison slapped Erica’s hand down when she waved cheekily. “I teach Intermediate Mathematics and Advanced Statistics here at BH.” She scanned the students who were still passing up papers, thinking for a moment. “We were just collecting assignments so why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Stiles.”

The young man hesitated for a moment, looking unsure, but the professor just smiled and nodded so he took a breath, long fingers tapping on the strap of his backpack. “Well, I’m Stiles, um, Stillinski. I lived abroad for a while so I’m not really familiar with the whole…” he made a motion with his hand at the classroom and glanced at the teacher. “…All this.”

Scott frowned a little, cocking his head to the side and Allison looked at him questioningly. “I think…he was lying somewhere in there,” he whispered.

“Mysterious new guy persona,” Lydia sang under her breath, going back to her lipstick.

The Professor Hudson was all smiles and welcomes. “I’m sure you’ll fit in fine, Stiles. You’re a Junior right? The years will fly by.”

“Hopefully!” called one of the boys at the front, making Professor Hudson roll her eyes.

Jackson was frowning like Scott but for a different reason, thinking to himself. “Stilinski...isn’t that the name of the new Sheriff?” He asked no one in particular, this knowledge stemming from the fact that his father was a DA and had told him about it earlier. Lydia made a sound of agreement and Allison shushed them both when the teacher glanced at their group.

“So Stiles, where did you transfer from?” Professor Hudson asked, trying to be conversational while the rustling of papers continued to fill the air.

“Right, uh,” Stile started, eyes flickering around the room, hesitating on Allison when he saw her. She smiled and waved. “It was a small place; middle of nowhere. My dad got a job here so we moved.”

There were a few snickers at the vagueness of the statement that Professor Hudson ignored as the last of the assignments made their way to the front. “Okay, thank you, Stiles. Why don’t you pick an empty seat somewhere and we can get started then. I’ll get you a book and itinerary after class.”

Before he could take more than a step, Erica’s hand suddenly shot up into the air, drawing the attention of a few of the students. “Where did you live before?” she asked without waiting to be called on. Her packmates rolled their eyes. They knew she just wanted to avoid getting an incomplete on her assignment for as long as possible.

Looking taken aback, Stiles stilled. “Uh…Poland. I lived in Poland.” Even the Professor looked impressed and eyed the young man as though she hadn’t expected a whole different country.

Erica went on, leaning her elbows on the table and giving her full attention to the young man that was going to help her stall. “your accents pretty good. You're bilingual?”

Stiles glanced at the professor but saw that he'd get no help on that front. She looked just as interested. “I spent time in the U.S. as a kid. I can speak a few languages.”

Erica’s eyebrow rose and she made an intrigued cooing noise. “How many?”

Stiles started shifting on his feet again, fingers adjusting their grip on his shoulder strap. “…Some?”

Allison was smiling even if it was because Erica was stalling and Scott was sitting straight up in his chair like an eager puppy. Jackson, ever the douche, was getting bored. “What, like two? _Three?”_ he drawled condescendingly.

Stiles eyes narrowed a bit at the new interrogator and his scent shifted from nervous to slightly annoyed. The three Werewolves in the room perked a bit as his tone went from unsure to defensive, both of which made Scott grin. “Sure.”

Jackson glowered and Lydia put away her compact, deciding she should at least try to pay attention what with 157 pounds of lean blonde Werecreature rumbling next to her. Besides, the rest of the class was starting to listen in now and Jackson did not like being the butt of anyone's joke, especially in front of an audience. "Translate this into another language," Jackson growled, "'Irritating little shi-"

"Mr. Whittmore!" Professor Hudson snapped. 

Lydia rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh lord...." she breathed, wondering why she was surrounded by hot-tempered idiots. 

Allison was having a grand old time with this and threw Erica a bone. “ _Pouvez-vous parler français?”_  she called out just to see what would happen.

Despite the irritation in Stiles eyes he cocked an eyebrow at her and answered after a moment. “French…yeah, I can speak French….”

Scotts metaphorical tail was wagging and he shifted in his seat excitedly, raising his hand for no reason. _“Hablas español?”_

Stiles irritation faded from his face and was replaced by reluctance like maybe they were playing some sort of game he wasn’t aware of. “This is California right?  _Obviamente._ ” (Obviously.)

“Ooh, snarky,” Erica said with a jab to Lydia. “I like.”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms on the table. She was peeved that this was taking up class time and took it upon herself to put an end to it. _“Wie ist es mit Deutsch?”_  (How about German?)

Lydia had been expecting a one-word response, perhaps even a blank look, but the new guy decided it was a good idea to _tease_ her. Stiles tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. _"_ _Wie sagt_ _man 'yes' auf_ _Deutsch?.”_  (How do you say 'yes' in German?)

Erica's eyes blew wide and her jaw dropped, letting out a short burst of a laugh. Even Jackson looked shocked. _“čeština?” (Czech)_ Lydia challenged, sitting a bit straighter as her green eyes narrowed in challenge.

The brunette in the front frowned, crossing his arms in much the same way Lydia had.  _“Můj otec je Čech.”_ (My father’s Czech.)

Lydia’s nails drummed on her bare arm, fixing this mole-speckled intruder with a murderous gaze. _“Russkiy zatem."_ Stiles actually had the nerve to sigh like he was bored with this whole process and the Professor dared a glance at the class valedictorian, wondering if -or when- she would start spitting fire.

"This is getting ridiculous,” Stiles said finally, throwing his hands up. "May I take my seat now or should I just move a chair up here?" The class was wide-eyed at this point, looking at their redheaded genius that no one ever, _ever_ messed with, even in high school, and then at the new kid who was _obviously_ messing with her. Messing with Lydia Martin. Like a complete, suicidal fool.

Lydia knew it was time to pull out the big guns when she felt herself being looked down on. _“Amen, plebis. Linguam Latinam mortuam quid simile?”_ (Alright, plebian. What about a dead language like Latin?)

Without missing a beat; _“Sic._ Are you done testing me now?” Amber eyes glinted behind his glasses.

Lydia’s inhaled sharply through her nose and she physically bristled at the challenge. Scott was grinning like a fool along with Allison who would forever claim that she was the first to like this guy. Erica let out a gleeful laugh and Jackson tried his best to look bored so as not to ingure the redheads wrath. “Absolutely not!” Lydia snapped.

“Yes you are, Miss Martin!” the Professor interrupted, eyes as wide as her students. “I think that’s _more_ than enough for today. If you and Mr. Stilinski feel the need to hash out who knows more foreign languages than the other after class, _please_ feel free. But right now I need _you_ , Stiles, to take a seat so I can start class.” Lydia and the others stared as a flush of red colored Stile’s neck and he practically ran to the back of the room where there was an empty table and all but collapsed there.

“Lydia you should see your _face_ ,” Erica snorted, mouth behind her hand.

“What a showoff,” Jackson muttered, eyeing Stiles with distaste and maybe a little bit of amusement.

 Allison practically hummed as she handed up her assignment. “I _told_ you."

“Oh my god that was the best thing _ever_!” Scott hissed, eyeing the short haired brunette like he’d just found his new best friend. “Screw you all, I’m sitting with the new guy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits on language 12-21 thank you BookWorms33~  
> More edits on language 1-25-17


	6. A bromance blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far Scott was impressed. Within two minutes of talking to the young man he was ready to admit and stand by his bromance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no Beta, sorry for the wait!

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Mid-September, 15 years ago.**_

 

Talia and David had wanted a date night and Peter made it clear that no amount of money in the world would bribe him into playing tag with his nieces and nephews again when the last time had earned him nothing but a child-sized bite mark on his calf. Cora had been grounded for a week after that so the happy couple had begged their friend to babysit. Or at least make sure no one lost any limbs. Watching the kids romp about had left Claudia with a sudden bout of homesickness and she left the Hale house that evening wishing that she'd brought her own little one along with her- well, not so little anymore, Miecysław was 9 now- but there was no helping it. Her boy was at that age now -a little past it even, which was starting to worry both her and her husband- and he needed to be close to a Base and their Leaders so they could deal with any...surprises. 

Claudia yawned, glancing over at the clock on the kitchen stove before looking back at the phone. It was midnight; a little past the time they were supposed to call and her boys usually made it a point to be punctual. She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve that had frayed while she sipped half-heartedly at a lukewarm cup of tea.

She had two more weeks before she would travel to France to be with her family and their bi-nightly phone calls were making her miss them even more as the time drew closer. Ever since Miecysław was born she'd been hard pressed not to take him everywhere she went- training, missions, meetings, grocery shopping- especially when she went to Beacon Hills. The boy loved her charges and the Hale children were always so kind to the younger boy and were always careful of his less than wolf-like strength when it came to games. 

Pulling herself out of her reprieve Claudia looked at the clock again and sighed, making up her mind to just call them instead. Her hand barely touched the receiver when it sprang to life, filling the quiet air with a cheerful ring. Nearly knocking her cup over she snatched the phone off the cradle eager to hear her husband’s voice. “About time you called,” she chastised with a smile, leaning back in her chair comfortably. “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me.” Claudia heard some static on the line and her brow furrowed slightly. “Johan, you there? I think it's a bad connection, honey.”

 _“Mama?”_  

The wobbly voice had the grin dropping from her face and Claudia sat ramrod straight. "Miecysław?" She asked, voice barely above a hushed whisper.

She heard a pained little grunt and her body left the chair, heading towards the stairs even before the boy uttered, _“I’m not feeling well…”_

“What’s wrong, _młody wilk_ ,” Claudia demanded, voice as calm as she could make it. “Are you hurt?”

_“I-I don’t, mama, there’s blood on…. M-my head hurts.”_

Claudia felt her veins flood with an icy sensation, mind jumping to dark places. Had they been attacked? Where was Johan? Had someone hurt her baby? The phone creaked in her vice-like grip. “Miecysław, listen to me. I need you to tell me where you are. Is anyone with you?”  Her question was answered with nothing, only a strained breath and a whimper. "Miecysław!"

There was a small gasp and Claudia could just imagine all sorts of horrors. A bloody wet patch spreading out on her baby's chest, broken bones, bruises on his pale skin. _“A-at the house,"_   the boy answered. _"I-I’m alone.”_ The small sob that ended that sentence caused Claudia to practically throw her bedroom door off its hinges, rushing inside as she made a straight line for her packed duffle bag by the bed. Something was wrong and her years of training set her nerves on edge, spurred even further by her maternal instincts that flared up at the idea that her child was hurt, alone, and scared, gripping the phone with small trembling hands.

“Okay sweetheart, okay. Tell me where you’re hurting."

 _“My h-head,”_ the boy repeated. _“My…everything hurts, mom, I don’t know what to-“_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present Time**

 

Stiles wanted to crawl into a cave and die. He had _no_ idea what had come over him, none whatsoever because he _never_ let little challenges like that get the better of him! ...Okay, he had a _little_ idea. He was an idiot. Damn his weakness for smart redheads. Smart redheads who spoke multiple languages. Damn her slightly hypnotic voice. And that brunette, Allison, who seemed to be friends with her. And that blonde chick who started the whole thing. She sucked. That snobby Abercrombie model could suck it too. What a douche. Was it too late to ask for a transfer?

He could feel the stares of the other students as he hurried to his seat and tried to melt into the table. He only lifted his head when he felt a familiar buzzing in his gut and on his skin. He heard someone pull out a chair to his left. When he looked up he was nearly blinded by the good-natured grin aimed right at him. The Spanish speaker. "Hey," Stiles found himself muttering. This kid, he just _...exploded_ with friendliness and for a moment Stiles forgot that he’d been sitting next to the now banes of his existence.

“Lydia is totally going to kill you later,” the guy said in a friendly tone. 

It was a testament to the kids' good vibe feel that the Variant hadn’t immediately gone on the defensive with that statement and Stiles just blinked once he’d processed the words. “Wait, what?” All Stiles could picture as a puppy wagging its tail. Odd, considering he was a  _Werewolf_. Two now. Because that was apparently how his day was going to go.

The curly haired young man was already pulling some books out of his bag and making himself at home. “Lydia,” he repeated. “She’s obviously going to kill you. I think it’s in her code or something that she has to go on a rampage if her GPA is threatened. But that kicked ass. So worth it.”

Stiles just blinked again. GPA. Right. That was sort of important in college. He risked a glance over at the redhead and found her staring at him like he was under a microscope. He averted his gaze first because anything else would have just heaped more unwanted attention on him. “…Glad I could entertain someone before I die.” God, what was his life?

The tan boy looked a bit startled, staring a Stiles for a second - Stiles knew he was listening to his heartbeat- and then flashed another, wider grin. His face was going to split in half. “I’m Scott McCall.”

Stiles returned the grin because he couldn’t stop himself. Literally, it was impossible; his head would have exploded if he tried. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“So your dad is the new Sheriff?” Scott asked, continuing the conversation like they weren't in the middle of class.

Stiles nodded warily, wondering if it was going to be a point of contention. “Yep.”

Scott just grinned wider and opened his textbook. “Badass.”

Stiles wanted to rub his face with his hands and suppressed a groan because if this Werewolf thought his dad as a Sheriff was badass what would that make his dad as a Base Leader of the entire Czech Variant faction? He was going to have some _words_ with the old man when he got a chance to call him, that's for sure. 

 

\---

 

So far Scott was impressed. Within two minutes of talking to the Stiles, he was ready to admit out loud and stand by his bromance. Stiles answered his questions quickly, had a little protective spice to his scent when mentioning his dad, and though his heartbeat was a little erratic –maybe he was just nervous- Scott didn’t hear any lies.

The Professor started her lecture at the front and Scott wanted to grill Stiles some more about Poland, ask him how in the hell he’d fit so many languages in his head, but Stiles had glanced over at his open notebook and pointed out that some of the calculations were incorrect. Scott looked down at his paper and blinked. Right. They were in class. He heard Lydia make a quiet irritated noise when Jackson let it slip that he thought Scott had found a new study buddy, and it wasn’t soon after that that Stiles was practically taking notes for him because Scott kept replacing numbers with letters and vice versa and what the hell was a cosign again? Stiles explained everything under his breath so the teacher didn’t hear but Scott caught Erica looking at them every now and then listening in to what Stiles was saying, jotting down notes in between. Lydia’s pen was furiously scribbling on her notepad and Allison was trying not to laugh.

The bell rang all too soon for Scott and once they were standing and packing up their things he blurted out, “Hey, you want to have lunch with us sometime?”

Stilespaused putting his notebook away and looked up, startled. “Uh... I don’t know. I’ve sort of got a full schedule today.” There was a tiny waver in his pulse but it was small enough that Scott didn’t think much about it.

“Tomorrow then?" Scott tried again. "When are you free?”

Stiles pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket -his itinerary- and uncrumpled it, scanning it over. “Um, 1 o'clock I guess.”

“Great!” Scott grinned, happy that their schedules coincided somewhere other than math class. “We can-“

“But I’ve still got a lot of coursework to catch up on,” Stiles interrupting, apologetically.

Scott felt Allison slip up behind him and Erica soon joined, slinging an arm over Scott's shoulders. The blond let out a low and playful growl that had Allison pinching her arm. “Tomorrow then," Erica said. "We’ve all got some free time between noon and three so meet us in the courtyard for lunch.”

Stiles eyed Erica with a healthy amount of hesitation that actually made Scott a little proud. Since her dramatic wardrove/attitude change in high school most people looked at the blonde in revulsion or lust. They didn’t see the vicious glint in her eyes or the stubborn pride but Stiles actually looked aware and respectful of it. Scott fixed the other with a grin while Alison raised an amused eyebrow. 

Frowning at their reactions, Stiles stuffed his class schedule back into his pocket and picked up his bag. "I’m not trying to be rude, but why?” he asked, glancing at all of them. “I literally just met you today and apparently one of you already wants to kill me.” He raised his eyebrow at Scott and the young man laughed. Lydia had already marched out the door with Jackson on her heels as soon as the class was done.

"You're new," Scott said with a little shrug, biting back the fact that he thought he'd be best friends with the guy as soon as he set eyes on him. "And you just moved here. We could show you around," he offered. 

“And I love anyone that can knock Martin down a peg," Erica chuckled.

“Uh, wasn’t really my intention to do that,” Stiles said with a shrug. “It just sort of happened.”

“ _Réaction subconsciente?”_ Allison asked with a grin.

“ _Oui_ ,” Stiles answered without thinking, only to wince and then frown at the sweet-faced brunette.

“Come on, we’ll be late to class,” Allison said with a jerk of her head as she tugged Scott towards the door. "See you around, Stiles." Erica winked at Stiles and flipped her hair as he watched them walk out of the room.

 

Neither of them heard Stiles let out a small sigh as soon as the door shut behind them. Apparently not making friends wasn't an option here, Stiles thought. Wonderful. His father would be so pleased.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I will be making Scott a good friend in this one story. Because what the fuck McCall. You have failed in this season.


	7. It's Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A-A balance kept sound f-for which we bleed, to f-fall and die till an-“ the word stuttered off and she heard a scratching, dragging sound, like glass over tile. “I ha-have to go, mama, something is- “
> 
> “Nie, młody wilk,” Claudia ordered, voice firm as the Jeep barreled over the uneven ground, trees whipping past her windows. “Anger cedes. Finish it."

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present Time** _

 

Never in his life had Stiles been so glad for a teacher that ignored his existence -and even seemed to hate him a little judging by the glare he got- but Stiles was grateful and for today, Harris was his hero. He met the man outside the room, handed him the introductory letter from the Dean and Professor Harris had just walked into the classroom without giving it a second glance. Stiles decided he was just going to sit in the back of the room, bury his face in a book and draw as little attention to himself as possible. He wasn’t going to look at anyone and he wasn’t going to get himself noticed by making any smart comments or answering any questions (he doubted that his new professor would be too impressed at his practical chemical/poison knowledge anyway.) He was going to put his first class behind him and be happy and content in his solitude. Yep.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Fan-freaking-tastic. Almost as soon as he stepped into the classroom Stiles looked up and saw Lydia Martin staring- glaring- at him. Like she wanted to ram the nearest Bunsen burner down his throat. The redhead was seated next to a blond curly haired boy that was easily a head and a half taller than her and probably had a few inches on Stiles as well. He wore a scarf and was hunched over in clothing that looked a little too big for him. There were shadows under his eyes that gave him a severely sleep deprived and/or tortured look that should have made any guidance councilor concerned. But Stiles was not going to pry, oh no, he wanted far away from that whole mess and the angry redhead by proxy.

Unfortunately, this was a smaller advanced placement class and the only empty seat in the room was to the tall boys right. He glanced around and noticed a few sympathetic looks from other students. Maybe the math class debacle had spread. Jovana _had_ said that gossiped traveled fast in schools. Relaxing his features Stiles took a breath and strode over to them, nonchalantly sliding into the seat without saying a word to either.

Lydia eyed every step he took and lifted her chin once he was sitting. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. The young man next to her rubbed the back of his neck and let out a resolved sigh. 

Stiles decided to go with hesitant sarcasm, feeling his warrior instinct to not look weak in front of another predator kick in. “Learning?” The green-eyed glare was something that might have made Józef cry. No, it defiantly would have. At least the curly haired guy was a nice buffer between them and maybe Lydia wouldn’t be able to reach far enough over to stab him with that pretty pink pen she was tapping on the counter.

Stopping himself mid-mental rant, Stiles noticed it. Buzzing. It felt cold against his skin and made him want to rub his ears. Curious and a little bit confused because no way in hell was this girl a Werewolf, Stiles looked up and was shocked to see that the redhead was still staring at him. “What?” Startled, Stiles went on she just continued to stare. “Seriously, are we going to be arch-rivals within the first few hours of knowing each other? You’re _obviously_ smart and I’m fairly certain you could kill me with your shoe so what reason do you have to automatically hate me like this? Can we please just be _civil?”_

The curly haired blond had looked up and was staring at Stiles like he’d grown another head, jaw dropped in either awe or horror. Both, if Stiles had to guess. The young man glanced at him and Lydia with wide eyes, hunching back in his seat as though getting out of the blast zone. Lydia actually looked surprised for a moment and Stiles thought he might have overdone it. People always told him he had no filter.

Lydia huffed through her nose and blinked slowly. “What’s your major?” She asked. Her expression was critical but her tone sounded…pleased.

Never in his life had Stiles wanted to answer a question correctly more than this. “History.” Sort of. He forgot what his dad told him this morning. This was such a poorly planned cover story. How old was he pretending to be again?

Lydia suddenly smiled and the total 180 threw him for a loop. “Good,” she announced, the tension bleeding out from her shoulders. “I’m Lydia Martin. I’m majoring in Biomathematics and Chemical Physics.” She waved a hand at the blond boy next to her. “This is Isaac Lahey. He’s going for a Doctorate in Veterinary medicine.”

Stiles couldn’t help but think it was interesting that Isaac had picked that field seeing as he looked like an injured puppy himself. “It’s…nice to meet you,” He said finally. Isaac continued to stare at him and Stiles really hoped that he hadn’t just committed social suicide in a fashion he had no idea was possible.

Lydia nodded as though she’d just done him a favor and Isaac quickly averted his eyes and opened his notebook.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Mid-September, 15 years ago.** _

 

“You said you were bleeding?” Claudia went on gently, trying to assess the situation from ten thousand miles away. “From where, sweetheart? How much blood is there?”

 _“I don’t know how it- I don’t know what happened, I was just- nng, mom, my head hurts so bad, I can’t-”_ Claudia clenched her teeth in frustration. Her son _knew_ basic first aid. He’d watched her and Johan patch themselves up plenty of times and lord knows he’d had enough scraps and bruises to know when something was really wrong. He’d been to a field hospital for christ’s sake and the boy _knew_ how to assess a wound if he could only calm down.

“Miecysław,” Claudia said, hardening her voice and forcing her heart to steady. “Genim, honey, I need you to be calm and tell me what happened. Take a deep breath and center yourself.” The sentence was their mantra in training, their last resort when things were going wrong. Something to focus on when everything around you and inside you was spiraling out of control. Anchors, pillars, supports. Something steady and unyielding. For a Variant it was a Center; something you found only in yourself. She heard a sniffle and some shuffling- the sound of someone pulling themselves up. She heard the boy take a deep breath, half stuttered with pain. She heard the tinkling of broken glass over the tile floor. Claudia pressed her lips together as she listened, taking the stairs two at a time till she was back on the ground floor with her bag in hand.

Finally, her baby started speaking again. _“I…was getting a glass from the shelf,”_   he began, his voice much steadier now and Claudia felt a surge of pride, knowing that he was prioritizing just like he’d been taught.  _“I got a h-headache. Then I felt like I had a fever and I started shaking. I broke the glass. m-my hand is cut.”_

Claudia shoved her boots on without tying them and barely bothered to lock the door as she dashed outside. The stutter worried her especially since Miecysław was so loquacious otherwise. Could he have a concussion? Was his body temperature dropping too fast because of the blood loss? “Did you cut any tendon? Can you stop the bleeding?” she asked as she made her way to the Jeep.

_“No. Just m-my palm. I can still move my fingers.”_

Claudia swallowed a relieved sigh, imagining her baby had found a towel to help staunch the bleeding. She opened the door quickly and tossed her bag into the back seat of her Jeep. “Good, that’s good baby." She almost snapped the key in the ignition, phone pressed to her ear as she peeled out of the driveway. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

_“My face, but…”_

“Is your face bleeding,” Claudia swallowed, terrified to think she’d come home to see a scar that she hadn't been there to prevent.

 _“N-no, but it burns,”_ the boy moaned.

Everything clicked into place after that and Claudia's heart ceased threatening to leap out her throat. “Baby, listen to me. Can you keep calm for me? Do you know when dad’s going to be back?” She had to get someone there. If this was what she thought it was she needed to get her boy to one of the Base leaders; somewhere they were equipped to deal with this. He could not be alone.

 _“He said he’d be right back-“_   his words cut off with a whimper and Claudia imagined those were his senses resetting themselves to what they would be for the rest of his life.

“Miecysław! _Genim,_  focus on my voice okay. Dad will be back soon but you’ve got to keep calm till then.” She knew her words would fall flat even though her son would try his best to abide by them. Claudia knew that his body wouldn't let him be calm. The child would be feeling a heat surging through his entire body in waves, burning away the human parts and filling them with fire.

 _“C-can't,”_ The boy grit out, small pained noises panting from his lips. _“M-mom what's happening?”_

Claudia understood. She knew. A child didn’t have words for what happened when they presented but she remembered it from the day her own fate took hold. The fire eating through them, the burning on their face like a knife had torn through their skin, heat that flooded their veins and pulsed in their head. The pressure in their guts telling them to _move_ and move _now-_ to find the things that were calling to them. To help them, save them, to hurt what was hurting them. "Honey, you remember what dad and I talked to you about a while back, about our jobs? About how you'd know when you could join us?"

 _"Th-that's what-?"_ The boy squeaked, only for it to turn into a high pitched whine.  

"Yes, that's what happening. Now I need you to do exactly what I say. You're going to feel much warmer soon and you might be uncomfortable. Your skin is going to sting and you're going to feel like you need to move around, but you can't leave alright. You need to sit there and _stay."_  The Jeep tore down the highway, skirting along the preserve as Claudia kept an eye out for the familiar back road entrance. “Honey, you remember that song I always sing to you? It’s your favorite. Can you remember the words?”

 _“A-about Rotkäppchen?”_ The boy asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sweetie. Can you remember?”

The boy grunted and she heard more shifting. _“Yes, I remember."_

"Tell it to me then," Claudia instructed, knowing the only thing she could do was keep her son distracted and try not to imagine his small chest laboring for each breath as his limbs tried to vibrate him into running, leaving the protection of the house.

 _"H-hunter, monster, trap, and p-prey,”_ He started only to gasp in pain and groan.

“What comes by night will hide by day,” Claudia continued, jerking the wheel to the right and nearly missing the exit. “What’s next honey?”

 _“A-ancient rite,”_ the child gasped, skipping some lines. Something creaked over the line and Claudia knew it was the plastic of the phone her son was clutching. She heard more movement; feet and knees scrambling over the floor.               

“Gen, stay where you are okay, _don’t_ move,' Claudia ordered. "You’re dad will be back soon. Keep talking to me. Now what’s next?” Where in the hell was her stupid husband at a time like this!?

 _“A-A balance kept sound f-for which we bleed, to f-fall and die till an-“_ the word stuttered off and she heard a scratching, dragging sound, like glass over tile. _“I ha-have to go, mama, something is- “_

“ _Nie_ , _młody wilk,”_ Claudia interrupted, voice firm as the Jeep barreled over the uneven ground, trees whipping past her windows. “Anger cedes. Finish it."

 _“No c-claw shall mark, no fang sh-shall bite,”_  he tapered off suddenly and Claudia cried out in alarm, hearing something crash in the distance. The sound of the phone clattering to the floor rattling her ears.

“Miecysław!’” Her foot pressed harder to the gas pedal. “Miecysław, answer me baby come on! _Nie martw si_ , it will be okay, oh, god just tell me what’s-“

 _“_ _Czesława?”_ The older voice on the other end had her breathing out a sob of relief.

“Johan, oh my god where _were_ you!? Miecysław, he’s-!”

 _“I know, Je čas.”_ The gruff voice answered.

“What? Of _course_ it’s time!” she snapped hysterically, practically careening off the road with her next turn. “Get him somewhere safe! Get him to Noir! Get him to the base!”

 _“_ _Mauve, get a hold of yourself!”_ Johan shouted. Behind his voice the whimpering grew louder, turning into groans. _“I’ll take care of him, but I have to go now.”_

“Johan,” Claudia started, fear creeping into her tone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

Her husbands' words were rushed but calming to her. _“I know, love. But we have to-,”_ A cry of pain jolted the fear higher in Claudia’s throat and Johan swore, sounding like he was restraining their boy. _“Gen, come on son, relax. stop- NO stay here!"_

"Johan?" Claudia's voice was high and thin.

" _Baby, I’ve got to go. I'll call you when I can.”_

Pale and trembling Claudia was left staring at her phone, dial tone blaring obnoxiously. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when she heard a knock at her window and she looked to the side. She hadn't even realized she'd stopped but her Jeep was parked haphazardly half way up the Hales driveway and the lights were on. Talia stood outside the car in her pajamas, long dark hair tangled around her shoulders and cheeks flushed. She looked like she’d just jumped out of bed and came running out of the house to meet her friends Jeep. Silhouetted in the light of the open door Claudia could make out David, Peter, Laura, and Derek, all watching anxiously.

Talia had her hand pressed to the window. “Claudia?” She asked through the glass, dark red eyes laced with alarm. “Claudia, what’s wrong?”

Claudia felt her voice tremble at the concern in her friend’s voice. “Talia, it’s Miecysław,” she blurted out, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “He’s presenting.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish  
> • młody wilk- little wolf  
> • Nie- no  
> Czech  
> • Je čas –its time


	8. Obvious is as obvious does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia’s eyes were wide, expression stony as she glared at Isaac before schooling her features. “Nothing Professor Harris,” she answered. “We just dropped our beaker in the sink.” Her tone was nonchalant and her expression calm, but boy did Stiles catch the look she’d shot at Isaac just a second before. Venom in those eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. sorry for mistaaakes

**_Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present day._  **

 

When he’d gotten up this morning Stiles had the feeling that they day was going to be a bust. He hadn’t put much faith in sticking it out through all of his classes –even though he only had three on Tuesdays- but he didn’t even _make_ it to his third class and while he was sure his dad wouldn’t blame him, Stiles was ready to duct tape himself to his bed and never leave the house again.

As it turns out enrolling when the term had already started meant he got to skip the first half of a few assignments -which, bonus- but it also meant groups had already been assigned and Stiles was the odd man out –in more ways than one. A lab assignment was already in progress for AP Chemistry and Lydia volunteered Stiles to partner with her and Isaac even though he had _tried_ to see who else was available; maybe the tiny, quiet girl in the back of the class who looked too shy to even breathe in his direction let alone talk to him. Harris had just rolled his eyes, muttering about how he didn’t care what they did as long as nothing caught fire or exploded. In order to avoid further conversation Stiles offered to be the notetaker and Lydia only told him that he'd better use the correct periodic element abbreviations and write neatly, so as a result, he spent the next hour and a half trying to keep a lid on his opinions while the other two took a more hands on approach with the experiment.

From an objective standpoint, it could be argued that it wasn’t a _total_ bust. During the assignment Stiles learned through observation a few interesting things about his classmates which he filed away in that paranoid section of his mind labeled; ' _possibly important and may reference at a later date_.'

The first thing he found out was that the redhead knew _way_ more about incendiary devices than he was comfortable with. Knowledge of which did not faze Isaac in the least. In fact, he even had a moment where he looked _amused_ when Lydia mentioned that adding just a little of what was in vial A with some crude petroleum would give them a primitive formula for Greek Fire and wouldn’t that be an interesting experiment to conduct. Stiles almost hid vial A from her after that and he wouldn't even kid himself at this point by saying that he wasn't actively trying to ignore the buzzing sensations he felt whenever he heard Lydia speak.

“So, Stiles, did I overhear Scott saying you were joining us for lunch tomorrow?” Lydia asked while she set their beaker on the burner.

Stiles looked up, the tip of his pencil tapping out an anxious rhythm on his notebook.  _You mean before you stormed off like a miffed little princess?_ He thought to himself. “If I have time,” he replied. He caught Isaac staring at him and the young man looked away quickly.

Lydia’s pressed her lips together for a moment. “You should come.”

"I will. If I have time," Stiles repeated more slowly, noticing Isaac glancing at him again. 

When he caught him in the act this time Isaac frowned before he looked away. "He doesn't have to," the curly haired blonde muttered, staring at a Petrie dish with a little too much intensity.  

Lydia rolled her pretty green eyes, clearly used to people trying to argue with her unsuccessfully. "He just moved here Isaac and he needs to start social networking right away." Stiles was sort of getting tired of being 'asked' to do things but he didn't say a word because Lydia was obviously used to getting her way. Always. By any means. "And I’m pretty sure you’ll break Scott's heart if you don’t,” she added.

That level of emotional blackmail flew in out of nowhere and Stiles blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?" he asked, because _what?_

The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Oh please, did you not see his metaphorical tail wagging when he asked you? If you don't show up he'll be depressed for the rest of day." 

Choosing to ignore the irony of the 'tail' bit of that statement, Stiles winced because Oh, Jesus, he _would._  He remembered the way the guys face had lit up when he’d asked. That was....kind of a lot of pressure to put on someone you'd not even known for a full day....

“Besides,” Lydia continued. “You don’t have any other friends.”

Ouch. True, but ouch. “Has anyone ever told you that your straightforwardness is refreshing?” Stiles asked, pushing his glasses up as he squinting his eyes at the woman. “Because they were lying.” 

Isaac made a small noise, expression mirroring the one he had when Stiles sassed Lydia before, but the redhead only nodding approvingly like Stiles had agreed with her. "My straightforwardness is refreshing much like your sarcasm is amusing." She picked up a beaker and tipped the powder into the bubbling vial over the burner. “Okay, so this should turn blue and we’ll be done.”

Grateful for the change of topic Stiles looked down at his notes. A second later his head shot up, panic in his eyes. “Wait, it’s not supposed to be-!” The sound of breaking glass cut through the amiable chatter of their classmates and every eye was suddenly on them. The beaker was no longer on its holder and Lydia’s hand hovered over the empty space. Stiles looked over at the sink where their experiment lay shattered in the basin, fizzing and belching out noxious smoke and out of the corner of his eye he saw Isaac shove his hands under the table.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Came Harris’s annoyed call from the front of the room.

Lydia’s eyes were wide, expression stony as she glared at Isaac before schooling her features. “Nothing Professor Harris,” she answered. “We just dropped our beaker in the sink.” Her tone was nonchalant and her expression calm, but _boy_ did Stiles catch the look she’d shot at Isaac just a second before. Venom in those eyes.

Stiles expression remained much the same -slightly surprised with just a tinge of unease; nothing that would cause anyone alarm- but all at once he felt his mild complacency rush out the door. Stiles shifted on his seat, mind racing as the tingling on the side of his face grew to an uncomfortable itch. 

Lydia quickly threw a rag in the sink to trap the glass shards and then turned on the faucet to wash away the chemical. "Well now we have to start again," she huffed. "Stiles, go get another beaker from the cabinet so we can finish."

Stiles didn't make a move to comply with the order. “Is... your hand okay?” He asked Isaac after Professor Harris huffed and snapped at the rest of the class to get back to work.

Isaac actually glared at him in return and shrugged sullenly. “Yeah, why?”

The muscles in Stiles jaw worked as he bit back a choicer, more biting reply to the returned question. “You grabbed the beaker.”

Isaac seemed to think his glare alone was enough to make Stiles shut up and he narrowed his eyes at the other. “So?" the curly haired blond challenged. "Lydia was going to blow it up.”

Lydia made a small noise that sounded like a laugh and tossed some hair over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “Please,” she muttered. “It would have boiled over at best.”

“You’re _welcome,"_ Isaac muttered and Lydia just turned her nose up at him.

“We have some time,” the redhead announced, straightening her supplies in front of her as she shook off whatever had ruffled her feathers. “Stiles, go get the extra beaker. Let's just pick up from-,”

“That glass was over 200 degrees Fahrenheit,” Stiles interrupted, still staring at Isaac with unwavering focus. He knew you only needed to touch something that hot for a second to get a second-degree burn.

Lydia turned a little too sharply, surprise, annoyance and a little bit of interest flickering in her eyes. But Stiles wasn’t afraid of her. Much. He had a healthy respect for her so far. But he'd smelled burned flesh and no amount of subtle diversion would erase that scent. It was unpleasant and unmistakable and _there,_ mixed in with the chemical smell. Isaac broke his gaze with Stiles and his eyes flicked over to Lydia who cleared her throat and gave a nod that she apparently thought Stiles hadn’t noticed- which, _rude_ , because he _had_. Isaac waited for a moment before he drew his hands out from under the table and waved them in front of his face. “I'm fine,” he said, showing off his unburned fingertips.

"You must have just brushed it," Lydia said evenly as she stood from her seat. "So let's dispense with the drama. I'm getting another beaker from the cabinet. Get the ingredients ready so we can finish before class lets out."

Stiles clenched his teeth together and let out a small breath as he fixed his attention back on his notebook. He knew his heartbeat was steady and he radiated nothing more than mild irritation but his mind was screaming up an absolute storm. That was the second thing he learned today. Don't let Lydia dictate who your lab partners are ever again because you will inevitably fail when  _another freaking Werewolf_  chucks the project in the sink.

So no, Stiles did not make it to his third class.

 

\------

 

Isaac wasn’t entirely convinced about Stiles's...everything. After hearing the buzz he’d caused in his previous class with Lydia he was sure the guy had a death wish, and seeing him go toe to toe with the Banshee when a vile of acid was within reaching distance was just plain suicidal. On top of that Stiles gave off a weird vibe, that is to say, he didn’t give off any particular vibe at all. Not like other people here at least. Everything about him was too subdued. His pulse, his emotions, his smell. Everything except his attitude apparently. Isaac stared at the young man off and on throughout class, trying to place what he _could_ sense off of him but nothing jumped out.

In hindsight, grabbing the beaker has been a dumb move. Isaac knew it, Lydia knew it, and Isaac was pretty sure Stiles knew it as well but he tried to play it cool as he shoved his blistering fingers under the table while they healed. The smell of his burned skin was faint but he tried not to wrinkle his nose at its presence. When Stiles started asking questions, ignoring Lydia's attempt to distract him, Isaac found that his only response setting seemed to be stuck on rude mode. He didn't _try_ to be defensive but he'd knew well enough that if he didn't shut down these kinds of questions right away it would only lead to more and he didn't _not_ want to have to tell Derek that one of his classmates was asking why his burns healed right in front of his eyes. Nope. Not a path worth exploring. 

Isaac didn't say another word for the rest of the class and they managed to finish their lab by the skin of their teeth. He threw his things into his backpack and tried to get out of the classroom before Lydia could skin him alive or Harris could catch him and bitch about respecting school property - _because you damn students don't pay enough in lab fees for me to replace this crap!_ \- but he ended up bumping into the one person he was actually trying to avoid more than the other two. When he was met with the familiar scent -or lack thereof- his first reaction was to snarl, but Isaac bit that back when his second reaction -which came almost immediately after- was to sniff curiously at the one he'd knocked into the door frame. He squashed that instinct too.

From behind thick-framed glasses, amber eyes pointedly glanced off to the side. "S'rry," Stiles muttered, pressing himself to the doorframe as he slid past. Every part of the young man's body language signaled discomfort but Isaac didn't smell a damn thing off of him other than the faint trail of anxiety which could have been attributed to anyone in the room. Now that they were standing so close though Isaac could see that Stiles was almost as tall as him but he couldn't get a good sense of his build thanks to the baggy clothing. For a moment, Isaac swore he saw the others eyes widen when they finally met his but a second later Stiles was pushing his glasses back up from where they slipped and he watched the young man jog down the hallway. The moment of distraction was enough for Lydia to grab onto his arm.

“What the _hell_ was that Isaac?” she hissed, dragging him out of the classroom and into the hall.

“What?” Isaac asked. He tried to sound innocent as the petite redhead all but shoved him into a little alcove.

Lydia was having none of that. “You don’t think grabbing a boiling glass beaker off an open flame is _suspicious_? God, you're as bad as Jackson and Erica, growling in class like some damned rottweilers...”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Isaac hissed back. And he _hadn’t_ been, really. A second before Lydia went to dump the vial he’d heard Stiles heartbeat jolt and he’d just…acted. He knew something bad was going to happen and he stopped it. “I didn’t want the thing to explode all over us.”

Lydia let go of his arm and glanced down the hallway, a frown on her glossed lips. “It wouldn’t have _exploded,_ idiot, I told you that. You need to be more careful. Stilinski noticed something and I don’t think he’s the type to let it go.”

Isaac gave Lydia a disbelieving look because as soon as she'd sat down next to him she’d started grousing about Stiles and all the languages she was going to learn to curse in because of him. The sharp aroma of her indignation when the young man had stepped into their classroom moments later had been obvious. “Before he came in you said he was an arrogant nerd who needed to be taken down a notch," Isaac reminded her.

“He _is_ ,” Lydia insisted. “But he's not an idiot.”

Isaac shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don't mention it and he’ll forget about it, Lydia. Just drop it.”

The redhead glared at her tall friend. “I can almost guarantee he won’t if you and the furry wonders keep being so damn _obvious_."

"So you thought inviting him to have lunch with all of us _furry wonders_ was a smart idea?" Isaac shot back. 

 _"Scott_ invited him and you know how stubborn he is. Plus, Stiles' dad is the new Sheriff," Lydia huffed. "It's better we have at least _some_ amicable dealings with the local law just in case he gets himself involved."

“Doesn’t _seem_ like he wants to get involved,” Isaac muttered.

Lydia rolled her eyes at his apparent naivety. “Erica, Scott, and Allison already want to keep him. He’s _involved_.” She reached up and rubbed her temple, almost talking to herself at this point. "I hope Danny doesn't meet him. He'd love to get another human in the Pack so he can have some 'normal' bonding time with someone."

Erica chose that particular moment to stroll over to them, red lips pulled into a sultry pout. “Who's doing the bonding?” Lydia rubbed the bridge of her nose and Erica raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, what’s with the bad vibes?” the blonde asked. She sniffed the air. “Also, you guys kind of smell like drain cleaner.”

“It’s chemistry," Isaac muttered, letting Erica loop her arm through his as she nuzzled his shoulder. "Everything smells like drain cleaner."

“Stiles is in AP Chem with us,” Lydia answered her previous question, saying his name like she hadn’t totally tried to melt the boys brain with her mind the moment he walked in.

Erica’s face broke out into a sly grin. “Oh, you must have _loved_ that princess. Tell me he's in the same major as you. Are you two going to fight to the death for Valedictorian?”

Lydia huffed and rolled her eyes, something that had become a habit around her friends. “He’s studying History.” Isaac made a noise and Lydia’s gaze flickered over to him in question.

“He didn’t sound like he was sure about that,” Isaac shrugged, remembering the small slip in his words. Hesitation.

Lydia waved her hand at him flippantly. “He’s undecided then.”

Erica curled a long strand of hair around her finger, letting it bounce back against her shoulders. “Hmph, I thought he’d do something in law enforcement just like daddy.”

Lydia gave the blond a deadpan stare. “His brain would be wasted in the Beacon Hills PD and can you imagine him trying to use a firearm?  _Allison_ thinks he’s adorable for Christ’s sake.” Their Huntress might have gone through a phase of ‘maybe I’ll only date Werewolves,’ but her track record was that at one point her flings had been totally normal, harmless guys till the supernatural bit them –metaphorically- in the ass. The new kid was no Werewolf. 

"I don't know, he's like, quadruple-lingual and good at math," Erica grinned. "He could turn out to be some sort of Special Ops Rain Man."

"His father is the Sherrif of a podunk town in the middle of nowhere, Erica," Lydia reminded the other girl. "And he's said his the previous school was some no-name place in Poland. He might be smart but I've seen his kind before. Big fish in a little pond jumps into the ocean and gets eaten."

Isaac slipped out of Erica’s hold and backed out of the alcove, holding his hands up. “Okay, this conversation is weird. I’m leaving now to go find my sane, non-stalker friends.”

“Avoid Scott then!” Erica called with a cackle as he hurried off. “He’s bro-crushing hard!”


	9. to Recon, or not to Recon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The uncertainty wavered from the child’s eyes as he thought, really thought, and he nodded in the affirmative. Johan smiled proudly at his boy. “A mark like that does hurt, son. But that gift changed the Lovkyně forever. That is why we call it Presenting: because it is a very special gift. When she was marked the creatures became a part of her. She felt his strong desire to protect; his instinct to defend what he cared about.” He gave the child a little squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the bottom. Please point out any mistakes thank youuu! <3

* * *

 

 

_**Hanover, Germany. Mid September, 14 years ago.** _

 

 _“Tatínek?”_ Coffee mug half way to his lips Johan folded down the top of his newspaper with one finger, peering over the top. Bright amber eyes peered back at him expectantly.

Johan lifted an eyebrow in response.

“Can you tell me a story?” The nine-year-old was dressed in pajamas his hair mussed from sleep with the comforter from his bed draped over his shoulders and trailing on the floor.

Johan didn’t say anything and set down his mug. “How long have you been up?” He asked finally. Miecysław hugged his blanket tighter around himself, nuzzling his face into the fabric like he had an itch as he made a non-committal noise in response. They boy had tumbled out of bed, climbed down the creaky wooden stairs and crossed the living room without making a sound all while wearing his father’s too large slippers. That in itself had Johan feeling a peculiar mix of pride and dismay because the boy was getting _way_ too good at sneaking around and it was all his mother's fault.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” The older man admonished, folding his newspaper and setting it to the side.

“I know,” the boy agreed guiltily as he shuffled his feet. “But I’m not sleepy.” He paused, lips parting a few times as his nose scrunching up in thought. “And my room is too warm. And I’m thirsty. My pillow is lumpy and I’m sore from training with Gleb today….”

The last bit sparked a bit of sympathy because Gleb- the German Base leader who’s spare house they were currently residing in- was determined to get Miecysław to Present after last years terrible,  _terrible_ false alarm. Seriously, it had caused quite an uproar in their world. Claudia had been at the Beacons Hills airport before Johan had gotten ahold of her and told her to cancel her flight once their son had settled from his fevered struggles like he hadn’t been fighting too and nail to take off running into the night. She didn’t cancel her flight of course and took the first red eye out because no mother in her right mind would disregard a phone call from their distraught child and not be at their side a.s.a.p. to wrap them up in her arms.

The other Base leaders had been perplexed by Miecysław. He was at the right age and had shown all the signs of presenting and even had the hyper-awareness that came with their changing senses, but it just hadn’t…finished. He was stuck in a state of _almost_  Presented. The boy said he could feel the side of his face tingle and even burn every now and then but no mark had shown on his skin. Midori -the Base Leader from Japan- had tried to get the boy to meditate but he was even antsier now than he had been before. Gleb seemed to think that extra hard work and relentless training with the kids who had already Presented was the way to get the boy’s abilities to fully settle. They’d been doing that for a year now and Miecysław wasn’t allowed to travel to the United States with his mother anymore. Not until his abilities had balanced out.

“Anything else you want to add to that list of excuses?” Johan asked his son.

The boy sniffed, glancing off to the side as his little cheeks puffed out in a stubborn pout. “My closet makes weird noises?”

Johan fought back a smile and managed what he hoped looked like a frown. “Well, that’s unfortunate kiddo but it’s still way past your bedtime. What makes you think I won't make you march straight back up to your room?”

Instead of answering the boy clambered up onto the couch and pulled yard upon yard of fluffy comforter around him, squirming and burrowing into his father's side like a wriggling puppy and the man couldn’t fight the smile breaking through. Miecysław’s head finally popped out of the blankets and he looked up at his dad with wide, bright big eyes. “Because you love me?”

A short laugh burst out from the man. “You win!” Johan chuckled, dragging his bundled up son onto his lap till he had him swaddled up like an infant. “But no word of this to mom when we call her tomorrow. You were supposed to be asleep two hours ago and just because she’s away doesn’t mean the rules have changed.”

Miecysław’s nodded quickly, agreeing to his father's terms with all the implied strength he could muster. “Promise.”

Johan settled for giving his boy one final stern look and then wrapped him the bear hug that the men in his family were famous for. “Alright. You know your mama’s story abou _t Rotkäppchen_ right? _”_ Miecysław’s nodded. “Well, my _dědeček_ used to tell me stories about _Červená Karkulka_ _.”_ The older man's gaze grew far away, remembering sitting at his grandfather's knee, hearing his _babička_ putter around the kitchen as hearty cooking smells filled the house. Johan’s voice grew hushed as the old man's voice echoed his words. “We call her _Malá Lovkyně_ ; Little Huntress…

 

_She lived on the outskirts of her village, closer to the woods than the others would dare to venture. She was charged to keep her village safe from whatever meant them harm. The Lovkyně was a peacekeeper, son. Her people- just like you- started training as soon as they were able to walk. Her parents, and her parent’s parents, and their parents before them had all kept watch over the boundary between the world of men and the world of the forest._

_When the Lovkyně was just a little girl her parents found her in her bed with a small creature. It was wrapped around her in the cold of night, sheltering the child from the chill. This creature was her companion, a shadow of herself as she was of it. With her shadow her side the Lovkyně stood guard over her people's domain, ensuring that neither side crossed too far over the line they had drawn to separate themselves. Few dared to challenge them. The Lovkyně would handle her people and her companion would handle his, and together they were a force to be reckoned with._

 

“Was it scary?” Miecysław asked in a tiny voice, peering up at his father from the shelter of his blanket cocoon. Johan knew immediately the boy was talking about the creature.

“Misunderstood,” Johan corrected with a small smile. “Fear often comes from misunderstanding, son. The _Lovkyně_ understood the creature and she wasn’t afraid, even if other people were.”

“Were they friends?” The boy queried. “Like _mama_ and Mrs. Talia are?”

That was certainly one way of looking at it, Johan thought to himself, but he knew that trying to explain the intricacies of a Declared Variant’s bond with their charge might be a little beyond the nine-year-olds grasp in his sleepy state. “They were good friends,” The older man settled on. “They understood each other. Where one was weak, the other was strong. Where one was fast and impulsive, the other was careful and slow. Where one was kind, the other was brutal. They balanced each other.”

“ _Mama_ says she balances you."

"Oh, does she now?"

"Yeah. She said you'd be too bullheaded without her.”

Johan huffed out a laugh. “Yeah? Well your _mama_ is bullheaded enough for the both of us. Now hush,” he instructed, slipping the corner of the blanket over the boys face and eliciting a tiny giggle. “You’re the one who wanted a story.”

 

_Because they lived on the boundary of the forest and the village, the Malá Lovkyně had been hurt many times. Her skin was a map of mistakes that tore at her companion’s heart. That she should be hurt because his kinfolk did not know her like he knew her- didn’t see what she was, that she wasn’t like other children of Men- was unacceptable. So the creature told the Lovkyně that he wanted to mark her. He wanted to give her something that would let the world know she was bound to him and he to her._

Johan reached up and trailed three fingertips down his son's pale cheek. “So he took his claws and marked her for everyone to see.”

Miecysław’s amber eyes grew wide at his father's touch. “Did it hurt?”

“What do you think?” Johan asked the boy curiously. Miecysław didn’t seem to remember the pain he felt when they were back in France a year ago, even if the phantom sensations made his skin tingle and sting. The uncertainty wavered from the child’s eyes as he thought, _really_ thought, and he nodded in the affirmative. Johan smiled proudly at his boy. “A mark like that _does_ hurt, son. But that gift changed the _Lovkyně_ forever. That is why we call it Presenting: because it is a very special gift. When she was marked the creatures became a part of her. She felt his strong desire to protect; his instinct to defend what he cared about.” He gave the child a little squeeze.

“You got marked too, right _Tatínek?”_ Miecysław’s asked, gazing up at his father.

Johan nodded and turned his head to the side a bit, touching his finger to his cheek. “Both your mother and I Presented with a mark when we were around your age,” he said. “And you too, very soon I think.”

The boy’s eyes shown with wonder as he stared at the side of his father's face before his expression soured. “Gleb says I’m late,” he muttered sullenly and Johan frowned, thinking maybe he needed to have a talk with the other Base Leader. “And the other kids say I’m weird because I can train with them but I’m not really a Variant.” And Johan would need to have a talk with their young ones in training as well.

“Most of those kids still have a lot of preparation to do before they are ready to Declare with any Packs,” Johan said, trying to bring a little perspective to his boy. “And your mom and I are very proud of how well you’re doing.”

The boy's face fell even more and he stared down at his father’s chest. “Did…did I do it wrong?” he asked, cheeks flushing slightly. “Presenting?”

That broke the father's heart just a little. “You’re just taking your time,” Johan assured, giving the boy a small squeeze. “There is no rush Miecysław. Everything will settle down when you’re ready and soon you’ll have a mark of your very own.”

When the boy’s small voice asked, “Can I see yours?” Johan smiled softly. He took his son’s hand and placed his palm on his cheek. A moment later the boy gasped feeling heat emanate from his father's skin. Four long red marks bled over the side of his face, trailing down his jaw. He may not have any charges like his wife did –he’d been solo for quite a while now thanks to his Base Leader position- but his mark still sang to him every now and then, reminding him of his more eventful Variant days.

“It’s warm!” the boy grinned, blunt little nails scratching lightly at his father’s stubble.

Johan hummed. “So we can always feel it. So that we don’t forget what it means to us.”

“Will mine be like that?” the boy asked eagerly “When will I get it?”

“Soon, son. Soon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present time.**_

 

The first time Stiles passed by a Werewolf after his mark had formed and he felt the entire right side of his face go numb, he thought he was having a stroke. It was an odd affliction for a nine-year-old to think on himself but the sudden sensation wasn't like anything he'd felt before and stroke just seemed logical. Thankfully he’d had years afterward to learn about the little nuances that his heightened senses gave him and he even got to a point where he could tell supernatural creatures apart by the way his body reacted to them.

Isaac had been almost as quick as him to leave the classroom and had bumped into Stiles on the way out. Wedged in the doorway with the curly haired blonde Stiles felt his skin heat up and the side of his face itched something fierce which was the final proof he needed to confirm that quiet, grumpy, socially awkward Lahey was his 4th Werewolf of the day.

That being said Stiles walked –ran- out to the parking lot and got –threw himself- into his Jeep. The smell of the lavender satchels hanging from the mirror filled his nose as he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and letting the silence compose his fraying nerves.

Even from the brief brush past in the hallway Stiles knew Kira was a Kitsune. That spark was almost undeniable and he definitely wanted to look into how ‘integrated’ she was with her Werewolf friends because as a general rule, foxes and wolves didn’t get along all that well. The giant in the hallway –Boyd- was built like an Alpha but Stiles got the sense he might just be a Beta. His presence didn’t demand respect, submission or attention, even if it was intimidating.

If he wanted to list his problems in chronological order though Allison, his first contact with ‘normal’ that day, threw him for a loop. She was kind and rolled with his odd mannerisms –seriously, _damn_ that weapon check reflex- but she made Stiles just a little _too_ comfortable. Enough to make him _un_ comfortable. There was just something about her; the way she held herself, or the callouses on her hands, or the way she stared at him without flinching even when she met his eyes that made him cautious. He had been in the field long enough to know not to ignore his gut feelings.

The second woman that had messed with his inner balance was Lydia, the fiery redhead with a cold gaze. She was certainly…something. Something that made Stiles feel like he had water in his ears. It was a pressure and an ache that pushed on his brain with little relief and he wondered if it had something to do with her voice. Part Siren maybe? She was smart that much was certain but there was a cold calculation to all of her answers and gestures like she was just waiting for someone to test her so she could prove she wasn’t just a pretty face and sharp tongue. That hostile but subtle display had him on edge and defensive out of pure instinct. Either way, he was considering dropping AP Chemistry.

Lydia’s sculpted out of marble Abercrombie model bodyguard was still a mystery, someone who really looked like he wouldn’t give anyone the time of day if he couldn’t get something in return. Apart from his overall unpleasantness Stiles hadn’t gotten close enough to him to get a good read but there was defiantly something that sent a shiver down the back of his neck that wasn’t just caused by the death glare he’d gotten when he’d embarrassed the guy in front of the class either.

The other bane of his existence from class number one was the blonde she-wolf. Erica was hands down the biggest flirt Stiles had ever beheld and the way she let her wolf come out a _little_ too close to the surface to play led Stiles to also suspect she might be a bitten wolf instead of a born one. Automatically that made him want to know what kind of asshole Alpha went around biting someone barely out of her teens. The inquiries didn’t stop there however, oh no. There was also the fact that Erica was apparently dating Boyd, another Werewolf, and interacted with both Lydia and Allison like their social statuses were equal even when Lydia was obviously used to being the most popular person in a room and Allison was a bucketful of sweet sunshine who could have won Miss America with her smile alone. Stiles wasn’t a point of authority on social circles by any means but none of their personalities seemed to click in a way that would lead them to having lunch together or conversing outside of school at whatever little _meeting_ they were planning.

Scott –Scotty McCall- was the real enigma, exposing himself as a Labradoodle within the first five minutes of talking to Stiles. He was friendly, easy going, and someone who obviously and easily earned the trust of others, which made him an exemplary –if a little naïve- Beta. However, something  _really_ irked him about labeling Scott as just a Beta. Something almost visceral that had the Variant in him calling ‘ _idiot,_ ’ because if Stiles knew anything, he knew Werewolves, and he knew there was clear Alpha layered deep, _deeeep_ under the innocence and charm. The problems with that line of thinking though were the other Betas. The others didn’t seem to see Scott as a person of authority which meant he _wasn’t_ an Alpha -or at least not theirs- which also meant that Stiles had to keep an eye open for _other_ Werewolves and _their_ Alphas and he could just add that to the ever-growing pile of concerns that he had come _all the way to America to avoid._

Hitting his forehead against the steering wheel a few times, feeling his glasses bruise the bridge of his nose, Stiles growled in the back of his throat. He felt the noise echo in his head as the last note died down in a sullen rumble past his lips. Once he felt his nerves settle he pushed up and rubbed his eyes, breathing in and out a few times as he organized his thoughts.

“Okay. Okay, you can do this,” he muttered to himself. “Chill.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts –color coordinated of course- till he found his dad.

 

_11:45 am To Zluta:_

_Did you get a list of non-Voters in this town yet?_  

 

A blunt and innocent enough sounding question. His dad was the Sheriff and Stiles was being a concerned constituent.

 

_11:45 am From Zluta:_

_Hello, son. Yes, my day is going very well. How’s yours?_

 

The quick response made Stiles think that his dad was either expecting him to text and had been hovering around his phone, or that life as a small town Sheriff really was too easy for him and he was bored out of his mind.

 

_11:46 am To Zluta:_

_Dad. List. Seriously._

 

There had been plenty of Supernaturals in the area when the Hale Pack was still alive. There was no reason to think that all the magic had left when the family that had guarded the Nemeton had burned to death and the last surviving Hales vanished soon after. Stiles knew there were bound to be Supernaturals in Beacon Hills and he was probably just overreacting -though he really didn’t think he was because holy shit it was his _first day._

 

_11:46 am From Zluta:_

_At home. It's a little out of date though. Why?_

 

Stiles just barely stopped himself from typing _because I’m two classes in and I’ve run into a Kitsune, Werewolves, a douchebag I may have to punch, someone who I’m pretty sure is part Fae, and a human that may or may not know about all of them._ “Relax,” Stiles muttered to himself like a mantra. “So what if you’re completely surrounded on all sides.”

 

_11:48 am To Zluta:_

_Just noticed some people on campus and I wanted to check up on a few of them. I don’t want to step on toes._

 

Because. oh my god, if he had to settle territory despites between multiple Werewolf packs during his lunch period he was going to shove a sandwich down someone’s throat.

 

_11:48 am from Zluta:_

_Are you worried about anything?_

 

Stiles sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. Worried? That was a double-edged question. Was he worried _for_ them or was he worried about being _around_ them. He was mostly worried about how he was going to stay the hell _out_ of all of this when his instincts were telling him to insert himself right into the middle of it.

 

_11:49 am To Zluta:_

_I don’t think anyone’s going to die anytime soon if that’s what you mean._

 

Sarcasm was always a good defense.

 

_11:49 am From Zluta:_

_All right, that’s good. So are you worried?_

 

Stiles groaned softly, wishing his dad didn’t know him so well. Of _course_ , he was worried. Of all the supernatural creatures to run into it just  _had_  to be Werewolves. He was pretending around creatures whose could hear a lie and could smell what you were feeling. The _irony_ of it was just baffling. Honestly, Stiles didn’t know what he’d expected: _no_ Werewolves in Beacon Hills? Right. For a few years that might have been appropriate out of simple respect for the Hales and the tragedy that had befallen them but it had been over ten years now and Beacon Hills was still a powerful piece of land. It was absurd to think that the territory would remain unclaimed forever. It was prime real estate even though Stiles could only ever think of it as the place he’d visited as a boy, where Mrs. Talia and Mr. David lived in their giant house with their awesome kids, where his mom would drive him around in the beat up old Jeep and sing a little song in Polish along the way and…. And no. The territory wouldn’t remain unclaimed.

Stiles fingers brushed over the keys on his phone as he tipped to the side, resting his head against the window. He wished the glass was cooler so it could freeze up the part of his brain that was running away with his thoughts.

 

_11:52am To Zluta:_

_Why do you automatically assume I’m worried?_

 

Why? “Maybe because he thinks you’re going to snap?” Stiles cheekily muttered to himself as he pressed ‘send’.

 

_11:53am From Zluta:_

_Your first text to me today was to ask about the non-voters in town when I distinctly remember us agreeing to lay low. How did you think I was going to react?_

 

Stiles huffed out a small laugh remembering what he’d told himself when he walked into school that morning. Wallflower. Unassuming, unremarkable, uninvolved new kid. “Promises, promises pops.”

 

_11:53am To Zluta:_

_I’m just curious._

 

The response wasn’t as fast this time, which made Stiles fidget in his seat. He glanced out the window scanning the sea of colorful cars in the campus parking lot, wondering how this was now his life. If his father had even a notion that he’d plopped them down right in the middle of what could possibly be _multiple_ Werewolf packs he’d blow a gasket. He wanted this to be a new, clean start for them, if only for a few years. Give them both time to plaster over that ever festering wound in their hearts.

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles caught sight of the faded sent satchel hanging from the mirror. He reached up and took it down, letting the soft thin paper crinkle between his fingers. The faint smell of lavender reached his nose and he felt his eyes slip shut, remembering scents from his childhood. Amongst the light floral scent, he caught dark coffee from the kitchen. It mixed with the oils as his parents cleaned their weapons. His mom’s apple-scented shampoo and his father’s aftershave. The smell of gunpowder at the range. The smell of iron and copper and blood and-

Stiles opened his eyes to the bright afternoon sun and tossed the satchel in the passenger's seat, pushing his memories away with a shake of his head. Way to be a downer, he thought to himself. He looked back down at his phone and the lack of response from his father. Needless to say, Stiles was feeling a little conflicted, wondering if he should have even bothered his dad about this. He could have found this information on his own with a little digging. His dad didn’t have to-.

Scratch that. His Leader. This was their _job,_ even if they’d both sworn it off. It was their entire _life_ …that they’d sort of turned their backs on. No. If something was getting his instincts buzzing Zluta needed to know about it. Maybe.

Stiles was still weighing his options.

The text finally came and when he read it the young man felt guilt swell up in his throat.

 

_11:54am From Zluta:_

_It’s going to take some time, son. I enrolled you in school to give you something to do during the day. I don’t care about grades or anything. It’s just a way to get your mind to focus on something else. Do you not like it there?_

 

Stiles let out a small groan the back of his head hitting the headrest behind him. He wanted to just be _Stiles_ here, someone totally new and unconcerned by little things like gunshot wounds or getting clawed to death. Someone normal. Not a _Variant_. So as guilty as he felt about failing to stick to his and the old man’s plans on the first day he also found himself feeling a little irritated because he should not have to feel guilty about this. This was _not_ his fault.

 

  _11:56am To Zluta:_

_No, no it's fine, but I still don’t see the point of lying about my age. I’m 23, not 30. It’s a totally normal age for a college student. There wasn’t any reason for you to put 20 on my transcripts or my license._

 

It was bad enough that his real first and middle name were on it but he wasn’t even ‘legal’ in this country. So much for drowning his sorrows at the nearest bar.

 

_11:56am From Zluta:_

_Don’t complain. I have my actual birthday on my license and I feel old._

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his phone. Something was off.

 

_11:56am To Zluta:_

_...it wasn’t your idea, was it._

 

Stiles could practically see his dad hesitating over his phone so he quickly sent another message before the man could reply.

 

_11:57am To Zluta:_

_Also, a college junior? Why not just make me a senior? I could have done one year in college and then gotten a job or something._

 

The more he thought about it, the more it sounded like…

 

_11:57am From Zluta:_

_Midori actually suggested it. I think she assumed you’d appreciate frat parties more if you were ‘underage.’_

 

Stiles made a small noise in the back of his throat at that sucker punch to the gut. Base Leader Midori of Japan. She was constantly mother-henning the younger Variants about being responsible adults and just because they were technically ‘above the law’ in a lot of ways they were not _really_ above the law. So of course instead of begging him and his father to stay she’d suggested Stiles get the _real_ college experience –even if it was a total lie.

Stiles shifted a bit in the slightly uncomfortable seats, trying to find a happy place between rock solid and sagging into the springs.

 

_11:57am From Zluta:_

_Well, I couldn’t really see a downside. You already know most of what they’re teaching. Who knows, you might be able to make some friends now that you aren’t flying out of country at the drop of a hat._

 

Punch two to the gut, thank you John. Stiles felt like a veteran missing battle. And Friends? Seriously? He’d _had_ friends. Well, sort of. He considered his charges friends. They were family. Family that didnt know his real name. Family that he abandoned. By choice.

Stiles let out a harsh breath and ran a hand over his face. Jesus, and here he thought he couldn’t feel worse.

 

_11:57am To Zluta:_

_I'm pretty sure no one wants to be friends with the Sheriffs' kid._

 

Yeah, he was going to be a sullen shit about this _._

 

1 _1:57am from Zluta:_

_So your stunning personality isn't winning them over?_

 

And that just pissed Stiles off a little. 

 

11:57am _To Zluta:_

_John, I'm trying. Do you know how hard it is for me to sit in a classroom for hours on end?_

 

He hadn’t meant to slip back into calling his dad by his first name again after they’d agreed to ‘blend,’ but it happened when he was pissed off. John responded in kind.

 

_11:57am From Zluta:_

_Stiles, we came here for some semblance of normal, remember? You think being Sheriff of this little town is as good as leading a strike team into a Nest of blood raged Vampires? No. It’s not. Half the deputies here haven’t even fired their service weapon. I filled out paperwork this morning, Stiles._

 

Stiles could just imagine his father hunched over his desk with a scowl, typing angrily in much the same fashion as he was and Stiles just wanted to chuck his phone out his window and run it over _._

 

  _11:57am To Zluta:_

_Then why are we here if it’s such a drag? Why are we pretending to be this nice little family unit, living in the SAME house in the SAME town that took everything from us!? Face it John we can’t do normal. We never DID normal! Even when mom was alive we were never nor_

 

Stiles caught himself just in time. He noticed his hands were shaking over the keys and he’d been holding his breath for so long his lungs were burning. " _Kurwa mać"_ He let all the air leave his lungs and hunched over, eyes screwed shut. With his body shielding his phone from the glare of the sun he deleted what he’d just wrote. He didn’t need to put all that on his dad. He’d promised the old man that he’d try, hell he _had_ to try here.

 

_11:58am To Zluta:_

_Alright, alright. We're both slowly losing our minds. Watch your blood pressure old man. Don’t work too hard. I got class. See you tonight._

 

Ending the conversation like that left Stiles with more of an ache in his chest than anything else but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Stiles accessed his phone's memory and whipped the text messages clean -his father was doing the same thing- before he slid the phone back in his pocket. He stared out the window for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Czech  
> Tatínek- dad  
> dědeček- grandfather  
> Červená Karkulka -little red riding hood  
> babička- grandmother  
> malá lovkyně – little huntress
> 
> Polish  
> kurwa mać -Damn/fuck (suggested edit thank you!!!)


	10. Calling on Contacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as she heard his voice the woman gave an indelicate snort that seemed to wake her up fully and almost knock her out of her chair. “R-Rua?!” she gasped, righting herself and scrambling a bit, bumping her computer and making the image shake. “The hell?!”

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present Time** _

 

After a good five minutes of beating his head against his steering wheel to see if a _better_ idea could come to him, Stiles started up the jeep and drove home. The first thing he did when he got there and barricaded himself in his room, boxes stacked in the corner, bed just barely fitted with sheets, was fire up his laptop, hoping that a shiny new idea would pop into his head even as he did so. None did. So he opened up Skype and entered in a familiar number from his long list of contacts and waited for the little button to go green, running his fingers through his hair as he focused on breathing deeply.

A little beep chimed and a window opened up on his screen. In front of him sat a blurry image of a tan blonde woman in an oversized sweater. She let out a giant yawn and scowled at the screen, rubbing her face in a slovenly manner.

 _“The feck d'ya want?”_ She drawled in her brash Geordie accent that she apparently hadn’t lost even after having traded Northern England for the rolling hills off Ireland more than seven years ago when her Pack had immigrated.

Stiles leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. “Morning Sunshine.”

As soon as she heard his voice the woman gave an indelicate snort that seemed to wake her up fully and almost knock her out of her chair.  _“R-Rua?!”_ she gasped, righting herself and scrambling a bit, bumping her computer and making the image shake. “ _The hell?!”_

Stiles felt a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t it only 2 o’clock where you are?”

 _“Who the hell bloody cares!?”_ She hissed in shock. _“Rua, yeh bastard, why the hell are yeh callin? Some’n die? Some’n_ goin _t’die? Er, nice glasses by the way…”_

Stiles removed his thick framed glasses with a sigh. “Sadie, calm down, okay. No one died. No one’s dying.”

_“Wot’s this ‘bout then? My Pack is fine, Rua, ah sweor a've been lookin out fo' them n’ nothin’s happened.”_

Still shaking his head Stiles held up his hands. Sadie Walsh and her twin brother Max had been the most shit excuses for Alphas when he’d arrived in Kells four years ago. They'd gathered a large pack at a young age back in England and were so hard headed that they insisted everything they did was right, including the little argument with the English government officials that had practically gotten them kicked out of their country. When Stiles had left them on the eve of their 20th birthdays he made it very clear he’d be keeping an ear open for any news of trouble in their general part of the globe.

“I’m calling because I need a favor,” Stiles continued. “I’m doing a little…” he hesitated on the word ‘recon’ because that was exactly what he _wasn’t_ supposed to be doing here. Recon was work. He wasn’t working right now. “…Digging on my new location. I can't really use my own login to access the Variant database so could you log in under Liath's account?”

Because Stiles was one of those rare Variants who didn’t Declare and bond himself to a single Pack for life, all those he helped were left with adequate enough knowledge of other Variants they could contact if the need arose. The Variant that had shown up for the Walsh Pack however ended up being a woman a year older than him who immediately fell in love with the Alpha she-wolf and they have been officially bonded since the day Stiles left the country.

 _“Geeze, random,"_ Sadie said, lips twisted into a frown. _"Liath an’ me heard ye were goin’ off grid. We got a strongly worded email frem Base Leader Gleb ‘bout it last week. Liath ain’t too pleased.”_

Stiles sighed because of _course_ Gleb would be the one to bitch to people outside the direct circle of his colleagues. He thought they were making a mistake. “They’ll get over it,” Stiles muttered, not wanting to get into that conversation right now.

Sadie seemed to sense that and she asked _, “Wot d'ya need tuh dig fo'? I’ll help if I can.”_

Stiles ran his hand down his face, sighing slowly. “I actually need your _and_ Liath’s help. And It’s not…I’m not really _digging,_ Sadie. it’s just…there are some non-voters here that I didn’t really expect and I want to make sure I don’t have to …step in.”

If Sadie frowned any harder her face would crack. _“If ye got_ out _Rua don’t yeh think yer Da’ll be none pleased ‘bout yeh_ steppin’ in _.”_

“Sadie,” Stiles snapped suddenly, “I don’t care what you heard, or what Liath said, or what you think I should do. I’m asking for help here, not a lecture. ”

It was of course at that moment that a shorter, thicker framed woman entered the picture and sat down, sharing the chair with Sadie. This woman’s face was stern and pinched with irritation that came from being woken up in an unpleasant way and Stiles gave her an unenthusiastic wave.

 _“Rua, don’t yell at my girlfriend at two in the morning,”_ she ordered.

“Liath,” Stiles breathed out in exasperation. He felt bad for snapping but Alpha Sadie Walsh could go on a righteous tangent if she wanted to and he wanted this information an _hour_ ago. “Please, I just need you guys to log in and get me some information.”

 _“Your dad is a Base Leader,”_ Liath reminded him, running her fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. _“What information could we get that he can’t?”_

“It doesn't concern _Zluta,"_ Stiles replied casually. "I would do it myself but I’m…”

“ _Supposed to be retired or some stupid shit like that?”_ Liath prompted. She rolled her eyes and sighed a second later, knowing she wasn't going to get anything out of him. _“I can access it but I don’t have the authorizations you do so it'll be basic stuff.”_

“It’s fine,” Stiles assured her. He just needed somewhere to start.

 _“He wants t’go under the radar,”_ Sadie supplied conspiratorially.

Liath snorted. “ _Well, calling a contact half way across the globe to do his dirty work is pretty under the radar.”_

“Girls, seriously?” Stiles butt in. “I’ll owe you one.”

That gave both women pause because being able to say you could call in a favor from someone like Miecysław Styczyński was nothing to laugh at. They shared a look that Stiles didn’t bother deciphering and finally Sadie sighed loudly and nodded. _“Wot information do yeh need?”_

“Werewolf Packs in California,” Stiles replied gratefully. “Residing or passing through in the last five or six years. I also need to know if any Variant has stepped in recently and if any Hunters, poachers, or executioners are active anywhere in the state.”

Sadie clicked at some keys, face illuminated by the screen while Liath typed in her access code and pointed some things out as they muttered together. “ _Can I narrow it down to a city or something?”_ Liath asked.  _“California isn’t exactly small.”_

Stiles swallowed, hesitant to reveal too much now that Liath was in pry mode. “I'd like stats on the whole state but…Beacon Hills and the surrounding counties mostly.”                              

“ _Rua_.” Liath stared at the screen, the stubborn expression on her face slipping. _“Isn’t that where-?”_

“ _Bán_ , I really don’t want to talk about that,” Stiles interrupted quickly, using her code name to hit the point home. The woman nodded grimly and pressed her lips together.

 _“Well,”_ Sadie said slowly, eyes flitting between the two Variants. _“We can only skim the surface of the database withyeut getting’ sum higher authorizations but it says the last official Werewolf pack in the territory wes the Hales.”_ Only Liath noticed Stiles shift a little at the name because she’d been watching him, her expression indecipherable _. “Dun look like anyone’s ever claimed it again though,"_ Sadie went on. _"One of the old Variants there put a cliff note in. Says somethin’ ‘bout a Nemeton?”_ She glanced at Liath who just shook her head. Not all supernatural creatures were in the know about the darker side of the Druid World Trees and Stiles didn’t blame the woman for not wanting to explain it to her girlfriend. Stiles didn’t want to explain because he was pretty sure that cliff note was from his mother.

Liath continued, reading at a hurried pace. _“Unstable packs and omegas were seen in the area a while back but it looks like they haven’t been staying long, which, good I suppose if you don’t want to deal with them.”_ She paused and scanned for a while before casting a quick glance at Stiles.  _“It also says that the Argent family moved out of state a few years ago. Victoria Argent passed away and her family left soon after. You’ve got some out of state Hunters on in the Contra Costa County though.”_

“A family or private contractors?” Stiles asked, calculating how close they were and trying not to shudder at the name Argent. He couldn't dwell on the dark feeling that settled in his chest. The fact that it had only been a few years ago that they moved, the fact that they had the nerve to _stay_ for those few more years after what they did....!

Thankfully Liath knew when to keep going. _“The Alvarez Family. The matriarch is Vanessa Alvarez.”_ She clicked a few keys on her computer and read through the information. _“It looks like they’ve only got a few family members but she hires a lot of contractors wherever she goes. Probably as bait or something.”_

Stiles frowned at that information. Hunter families could be bad but bounty hunters were worse. People who were in it for the money or the thrill of the kill. People who didn’t give a damn about any code and didn’t pretend to follow one. It presented challenges but opportunities as well.

Sadie winced as she read over her girlfriend's shoulder. _“Ugg, Jesus, they’re pretty brutal. Alvarez is known for hiring guns jus' to send out as fodder for the badder beasties.”_

“I’ll keep a lookout,” Stiles replied, running his hand down his face as he leaned back in his chair. “What about any outlying packs around. I ran into a few Wolves today at school.”

Liath’s eyes widened and Stiles wished he’d kept his mouth shut. _“School? You really have gone Voter, Rua.”_

Sadie frowned and glanced back at the screen, checking if they missed anything about other packs. _“Are you sure they aren’t from the same pack?”_ she asked. As a Werewolf she knew as well as Stiles that in a small town more than one pack was highly unlikely. Territorial pissing contests and all that.

Stiles groaned internally. “It’s kind of complicated," was the best he could come up with.

 _“Beacon Hills isn’t a large town.”_ Liath was starting to look a little concerned now and Stiles could tell that she’d soon be asking for more information than he wasn’t willing to share. _“I’m not seeing anything about any established Werewolf Packs in the area, let alone multiple. I mean, the last official pack….”_

She trailed off and Stiles finished. “The Hales. I know. And I know that the ones who survived the fire left years ago.” He took a deep breath and let it out quickly, rubbing his hand over his face again like he was trying to scrub away unpleasant thoughts. “Okay, thanks' girls. I think I’ve got enough to go on. I owe you one.”

 _“Yeah, sure Rua,”_ Liath acknowledged, staring at the man through the screen while Sadie gave a sad little wave goodbye. _“Be safe.”_

 

_\------_

 

Lying on his bed Stiles ruminated on the information he'd just heard, passing the time by trying to find the familiar marks and cracks in the ceiling. When he was a child he’d been fascinated by tiny flaws in the house he only got to visit once a year with his mom and occasionally his dad.

He never thought he’d have to see them again.

Sighing, he looked over at the clock on the table and sat up knowing his father would be home in an hour or two. Walking over to his closet where he’d stored his set of heavy black suitcases he pushed aside the squeaking doors and dragged one out and unlocked it. Inside the bulletproof case, packed in foam and braced with thin plastic dividers were row upon row of weapons. An arsenal of knives, handguns, and projectiles all polished, oiled and gleaming in the dim of his room. The second and third cases in his closet contained even more. With deft fingers used to the action, Stiles lifted out a tray using the small handle attachments and set it aside exposing the second layer of storage. He removed a stack of neatly folded clothing and then a pair of black combat boots that looked capable of kicking a person to death all by themselves. After setting the clothing aside he then removed the second tray. On the last layer he paused to stared down at what it contained. A stony expression crept over the young man's face, amber eyes gleaming as they caught the reflection off of the object. He stared at it, breathing slow and methodic, and then as if he was suddenly turned back online he replaced the trays and closed the case with a shake of his head.

A stony expression crept over the young man's face, amber eyes gleaming as they caught the reflection off of the object. He stared at it, breathing slow and methodic, and then as if he was suddenly turned back online he replaced the trays and closed the case with a shake of his head.

The Sheriff returned just before sunset and Stiles had already started dinner. Neither of them had gone grocery shopping yet so the spread was Pop tarts, beers, some protein shakes and a fruity granola bar Stiles had cut in half.

Johan’s eyebrow rose when he walked in, depositing his gun and badge on the kitchen table. “Went all out, huh kid.”

Stiles was already half way done with his beer, flipping through an old newspaper that had been left on their door earlier that week. “Meal fit for kings, pops.”

The older man sighed and took a seat. “How was your first day?” he asked, reaching for his unopened bottle and twisting off the top.

Stiles took a short sip, flipping the page over. “Mmm, not bad. Met some people.”

His father looked amused. “Friends?”

Stiles shot him a glare over Current Events. “When will you accept my anti-social attitude and move on?”

“When will you accept that I’m your father and it’s my job to hold you to a standard that will drive you insane?”

“Love our talks,” Stiles muttered.

“Seriously, was it okay?” The new Sheriff asked with a chuckle. “Classes too hard? Not hard enough? Did you beat up the biggest kid there and establish the hierarchy early on?”

With a fake laugh, Stiles finally put down the newspaper. “No, because I’m pretty sure the biggest person on campus is actually a 5 foot nothing redheaded princess who actually got me to break into like six different languages today.”

John’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”

The exhaustion on the younger Stilinski’s face was audible. “Oh god, it was…it was horrific. First class of the day and I get into this ridiculous pissing contest with her all because some sassy blonde slacker in a corset was trying to distract the teacher, and then I end up practically tutoring this crooked jawed guy who is basically a puppy, only to find out that the same redhead was in my advanced chemistry class and would be handling volatile compounds around me for the rest of the semester!”

Laughter bubbled out from John and he clutched his stomach. “ _Ježíš Kristus, syn!_ When I got your text today I thought I was going to have to call in the cavalry! How do you manage to _do_ this to yourself!?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles cried, throwing his hands up. “I literally went into the building telling myself I wasn’t going to talk to _anyone_ today and then I bump into a ball of sunshine on legs and all of a sudden she’s inducted me into their dysfunctional clan!”

John roared with laughter, clutching his beer in one hand as a few drops fell onto the table.

With a strange, sinking and equally uplifting sensation, Stiles realized then that he hadn’t heard his dad laugh like this in a long time. Sure they shared their inside jokes like any father and son but Stiles hadn’t heard that deep belly laugh in years. Not about something so mundane as his kids first day of school.

His father must have realized this too because his laughter died down but the smile stayed on his weathered face. He didn’t have to say anything and Stiles knew what he was thinking. _‘See? Told you this would be good for us.’_

Stiles didn’t think that thought warranted a response but he didn’t want to see that smile go anywhere so he just huffed and slumped in his chair. “Thank god I told them I’m a History Major or she might have thrown acid in my face.”

“Law enforcement,” John interrupted, a little smirk on his lips.

“Huh?” Was the intelligent reply.

“I put Law Enforcement studies on your file. Remember? I mentioned it before you left this morning?”

Stiles blinked a few times. “....Was this when you took away my gun?” he asked.

John nodded. “Yep.”

“Well no wonder I tuned you out. I was thinking of all the ways I wanted to become a delinquent and ruin the good Sheriffs reputation.”

John reached out and slapped his son on the back of the head. “Not funny. Pass me a Poptart.”

Stiles sniffed a bit and tossed a silver packet of pastry at his dad. He wondered if he could manage to make his dad laugh like that again and keep him from noticing anything weird going on. “Not joking.”  

His dad chuckled and Stiles decided that he'd sure as hell try.

 

 

* * *

  

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Late October, 14 years ago** _

 

“Talia, are you _sure_ that you are okay with me leaving,” the woman asked for the eighth time in the last two hours.

Derek heard his mother sigh for the eighth time, followed by a little chuckle. “Good lord Claudia, it’s Mickey’s big day! It’s not like you can call in sick.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you all alone for that long. Those Hunter kids are going to the same school as your kids now and I know it's summer but you said Derek’s been hanging around with that girl and I just don’t -”

“Claudia, we’re big wolves. We can handle it,” Talia insisted. “Besides, Laura would never let Derek do something dumb.” From inside her room Derek heard Laura snort and he huffed, trying to concentrate on his book again. “Her reputation is too important to her.” Laura cried out indignantly in the other room and Talia chuckled. “Honestly, with the panic you worked yourself into last year with that false alarm I’m surprised you even stopped by to tell us you’re leaving!” Talia laughed.

Claudia groaned. “God, don’t remind me of that. I lost five years of my life that night.”

“We’ll be okay.” Derek heard his father David moving around in the kitchen. “We’ve got some extended family coming over tomorrow for the holiday week. I doubt the Hunters would try anything with 15 some Werewolves in the house even if they _are_ crazy like you say they are.”

Claudia huffed a little and Talia laughed again. “Oh, _smile_ already, Claudia. This is a huge thing for you! I mean, your son is _presenting!_ You’ve been babbling about this for years! And you think Johan can manage an eight-year-old bundle of brand new superhero by himself?”

Derek could almost see the look the other woman was giving her mother. “You better not let Gen hear you call him a superhero, Tali. He’s got an obsession with the Avengers right now.”

“It’s only a week,” David went on.

After a beat of silence Claudia spoke again and he noticed how anxious the woman was. “Okay. But you have to call me if anything feels off. That goes for you kids too!” Her voice was louder now and Derek winced, knowing he’d been caught. ”I can charter a plane back in minutes.”

Talia laughed again. “You’re such a worrywart! One week apart won't kill us.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Czech  
> Ježíš Kristus, syn - Jesus Christ, son!


	11. What just happened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "....Dogs." the stranger repeated. "Did they....get eaten by the two wolves there?" And yeah, even Scott couldn't beleive he'd said that. A single Fairy chose that moment to flit between them, floating its little glowing butt right between the death glare from the wolves and the golden gleam of the strangers eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have royally f$cked up my hand somehow and my grand idea to rest it was to spend hours typing on the computer. Behold the fruits of my pained labors. 
> 
> No beta as per usual. And PLEASE my lovely multilingual readers, if you see something that isn't right, let me know and I will fix it asap! I love you guys for all your help ^^ *smothers with candies and stuffed animals*

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA Present Time.** _

 

That night Stiles drove his Jeep out to the nearest gas station just on the outskirt of Contra Costa County. As adamantly as he’d rejected the idea of reconnaissance it was exactly what he knew he’d end up doing. Sadie and Liath had given him some credible information and he’d be an absolute idiot not to follow up on it -at least that’s what he told himself to ease his guilt as he waited for his dad to fall asleep upstairs and then snuck out of the house. Before he left though he made a few calculated wardrobe changes. He’d forsaken his plaid over shirt, Captain America t-shirt –yes he’d Googled it and he couldn’t _believe_ that he’d forgotten about how much he’d loved the Avengers comics as a child- jeans and chucks. Replacing those clothes were slightly more practical articles better suited for his undertaking.

The gas station was closed for the night, not a big enough chain to be open 24 hours, and was surrounded on all sides by sparse woods and just beyond that was a small town with a single hotel; his destination. Only one tall parking light was on and it flickered every few seconds as if threatening to give out. Crickets chirped in the tall unkempt grass and nothing else could be heard but the sound of the Jeeps tired crunching as they turned into the gravel lot and parked. 

A heavy black combat boot was the first thing to hit the ground when the door opened. Its soles were worn from use but far from worn out. Functional buckles and a sturdy zipper kept them stiff at his ankles and ended just at the center of his calf. These boots were made for ass kicking.

Gone was the frumpy, slouched college student with thick-rimmed glasses. The man that stepped out of the battered blue jeep was confident and sharp-eyed with his hair pushed back to reveal the scar on his temple. The sturdy black pants that wrapped all the way up his legs were much more form fitting than his jeans had been and he’d donned a black sweatshirt with a narrow hood. Under the sweatshirt he wore a fitted dark red top that was practically sculpted to his form. The material stretched across his chest and highlighted the soft lines of his abdominal muscles when he moved. The transformation clothing and upright posture supplied was enhanced by the two .45 caliber handguns strapped to his belt and the gleaming handle of a knife sticking out of his boot.

Stiles glanced around the empty parking lot and shut the door, pocketing his keys and turning his phone to silent before he slipped it into an interior pocket of his sweatshirt. In his free hand he held something metallic that glinted under the fluorescent lights.

Stiles looked down at it and then brought it up slowly so that it slid into the light. A wolf; ears forward, fangs bared, eyes set deep and staring back at him with an empty, cold gaze. A mask. Not just any mask. No mere costume piece could hold so much detail and so much history. It was scuffed with not age but use. This was a battle mask. Each marking hammered into the iron was a piece of strength trapped in the metal. He held it hesitantly, the pull of the howl he heard when he looked at it filling his senses and drowning out the sound of the world around him. The gunmetal gray iron gleamed and lines of red paint that had been carefully added to the etched lines on its surface looked like tribal markings, haunting in their fierce strokes.

Stiles took a breath and yanked the door open again with a hard tug before shoving the mask in-between the seats without another thought. “ _Idiota_ ,” he muttered, cursing his own stupidity.

Silent as the wind he pulled up his hood and took a shortcut between the trees.

 

 ----

 

By 12:30 AM the next morning Stiles found himself experiencing a weird amalgamation of regret and frustration. Almost two hours and he had found out almost diddly squat about the Alvarez family other than where they were staying and a general idea of how many of them he might have to deal with if they so choose to make his life difficult.

The hotel -more of a motel really, but it did have a nice pool- was three stories but climb one building and you’ve climbed them all. After he pulled some gloves out of his back pocket and slipped them on Stiles stealthily scaled a combination of drainpipe and fire escape and perched a few feet from the open window like Spiderman. It wasn't that the Hunters were careless with their security, it was just that if they were expecting an intruder they were expecting them to burst in through the front door snarling and trying to rip their throats out, not a young man on the fire escape who had no intention or need to draw his weapons. Stiles had hoped to glean some more information while the Hunters sat around playing cards, maybe overhear some diabolical plan of some sort, but apparently, Hunters were _super_ dull when they weren’t actively trying to kill something. 

"Go fish."

An aluminum can slammed onto the folding table. “Mario, I swear to _god_ , if you try to look at my cards again I will shoot you in the foot.”

Stiles chin dropped off where he’d been resting it on his hand and he gave a small snort, jerking into alertness. He shook his head and shifted a few inches closer to the window so he could hear what was going on.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” said –Stiles assumed- Mario.

“Don’t be an _actual_ loser!”

" _Bóg..."_ Stiles rubbed his tired eyes, realizing then that he might have been eavesdropping on a couple of man-babies for the past hour.

“Shut it, both of you,” interrupted a gruff man, his voice rough from what had to have been a lifetime of cigarettes. “You’re arguing like children. Pair of fours. Go fish.” A few more coins got dumped on the table to fill the silence. “Nessa, you hear anything from those guys in Washington?”

Vanessa Alvarez sighed and Stiles heard a chair creak and cards being shuffled. “The Wilson brothers bailed.” The Huntress had a deep, richly accented voice and Stiles immediately found himself frowning at the sound because, choice of card game aside, that was the sound of someone who’d made a living out of killing for fun. “They said their buddy’ll be here within two or three days. Some yokel from Georgia.”

There were a few groans and someone cracked open another beer. “Are we gonna’ wait?”

Vanessa gave a sharp laugh. “Like hell. I told them he’s got until midnight on Friday to meet up with us or we’re leaving his bounty-hunting ass behind. The less credit we have to share for this the better.”

“And yet you always hire a bunch of glory seeking idiots whenever we go on a hunt.”

Judging by the grunt, someone had slugged the man who spoke so sarcastically to the Alvarez matriarch. “I hire glory seeking idiots because they don’t ask questions when I tell them to go set up asinine traps in the woods. I don't have to share credit with a dead man.” 

“Waste of money if you ask me.” Marco again.

“No one _asked_ you Marco." Vanessa snapped. "You’re lucky you’re my brother or I’d have _you_ as the bait for one of those monsters.” And now Stiles had a few more things to file away in the file of things that he really wasn’t supposed to be filing.

Stiles toughed it out for another half hour until he'd had enough of the bullshit and gave up. Unfortunately –or fortunately depending on how you were prepared to interpret it- these guys seemed to have even less information about Packs in Beacon Hills than Stiles had. As he climbed down from his perch he couldn’t help but feel vaguely disappointed with his findings. Not that he _wanted_ there to be any action, no way, he was a _civilian_ now… but still…a little more substance would have been nice. 

He flipped open his phone on the way back to the jeep and did a quick search on 'Wilson' in Washington. Trophy hunters, not particularly dangerous but well traveled. Warrants out for arrest in two state but only for assault and battery, and one for illegal poaching. Internet back doors were amazing if you had a simple little thing like the badge and ID number for a local Sheriff. 

Stiles put his phone away, hunkering down in his hood as the wind kicked up around him. "Well that was a waste of time," he muttered, but in the back of his mind he was already plotting. He had until Friday to do.....something. Hell if he knew. Hell if he _wanted_ to.

So he was disappointed and a little irritated with himself but on his drive back, windows rolled down as the whipped past the towering trees lining the road, Stiles heard a soft series of howls echo into the night air. He shouldn’t have been able to hear something so far away with his engine going full blast but Stiles had always been attuned to such sounds.

Hands tightening around the steering wheel through the thick gloves he’d dawned, Stiles glanced to the side at the metal mask peeking out from between his seats. “Maybe…” He muttered, considering. The thought went quickly as it came and he shook his head hard and sharp, forcing the curiosity from his expression. “No. No~pe!” He focused his eyes back on the road and ignored the sing of the iron next to him. The wind stirred his hair and brushed over his face as he sped along the dark highway. He passed the _Welcome to Beacon Hills_ sign and glanced at the trees again. Stiles found himself unwittingly searching the darkness for an all too familiar flash of glowing eyes and lean, furry forms darting through the shadows. He felt his skin tingle, itching to move.

Another howl in the night and Stiles felt it in his lungs.

 _No_ , he thought to himself. _You’re not doing this so stop being an idiot._

The Jeep gave a threatening rumble and Stiles was shaken out of his trance. Unconsciously he reached behind the wheel and turned off his headlights, plunging the road into darkness, marks on the pavement illuminated only by the moon. It was almost full and hung in the sky surrounded by wisps of clouds. Eyes adjusting to the lack of light Stiles drove on in silence, hands gripping the wheel tight.

He passed another mile marker and gave a huff, releasing the wheel with one hand so that he could use his teeth to remove his gloves one at a time. _You already went across town to eves drop on a group of Hunters and lied to your Base Leader who happens to be your dad and a freaking police officer. Stand. Down._

The halo of a lone passing streetlight shown through his windshield onto the front seats. He flinched as it bounced off the metal mask and into his eyes. Stiles heard a howl ring in his ears as the empty eyes of the wolf mask stared back at him hauntingly, the red lines dripping into his senses.

He veered to the right towards the shoulder.

_Seriously, you’re not doing this. It’s not your business. You have absolutely NO business sticking your nose into what could possibly be multiple Werewolf Packs. They don’t need your help so stop being a busy body._

He put the Jeep in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Now that the engine was quiet he was able to hear the rustling of the leaves. He heard panting breaths, barks and snarls, and the occasional cracking branch. The side of his face tingled and he reached up, drawing his fingertips down the four invisible lines that ran from his hairline to his chin and swallowed the feeling of elation that came with it.

_You’re not supposed to intervene for no reason. That’s vigilante work and you should kick your own ass for even thinking about it._

Another snarl drifted to his ears through the open window and Stiles looked outside with a frown.

_No. Reason. To. Intervene._

For a spilt second his amber eyes widened, focusing in on something hidden behind the trees. A light. Like a firefly but one that left a slow trail after it, winking in and out like a star. Stiles blinked, mind going blank. Another light flit through the trees and then another. One zipped past and Stiles just happened to catch a blur move through the shadows.

_No reason at all._

“Oh, god-damnit,” Stiles snarled. He grabbed the wolf mask from the seat beside him.

 

 

_**A little Earlier in the Preserve**_

 

Fairies were a pain in the ass. They might not be as annoying as Pixies and they didn’t bite, but oh my god could they run a person in an endless circle and make you wish you’d stayed home. There was a reason the stories about Fairy circles were warnings to those traveling through the woods. Scott had been caught in one such circle for the past five minutes, high out of his mind and totally aware of it. It was not fun.

For the last two weeks the glowing little assholes had been casting their little fun traps all over the hiking trails and leisurely walking paths in the Preserve. For Scott, as a Werewolf, stepping into a Fairy circle wasn’t as bad as if a human had done it but there had been enough joggers with reports of ‘suspected harmful vision-inducing chemicals’ in the woods that Derek had finally ordered them to check it out and get rid of the Fairies. 

After their classes were done for the day they'd met up at Derek's loft and mapped out their plan. The Pack had split up and Scott had taken the eastern trail, breaking apart the rings of rocks and mushrooms and flowers with his foot or a walking stick he’d picked up along the way. About half way into his search though he’d caught sight of one of the Fairies. The little creatures were notoriously hard to pin down but Lydia read that if they could manage to capture one they could strike a bargain with it. All of them had been given mason jars with holes poked in the lid for that very purpose. Lydia also said that the Bestiary warned anyone trying to catch a Fairy that they had to be watched at all times or they could vanish so it was best to do the capturing in pairs, because if a captured Fairy got loose they were 100% more likely to try and curse their captor. It wouldn’t kill them but no one wanted to walk around with a painful rash covering 80% of their body for two weeks.

Scott pulled out his phone and sent a group text.

 

_12:20am To Everyone:_

_I see 1 of the Fairies. Can someone come bck me up? On the E trail about a mile from the road._

He glanced back at the screen when he got an immediate reply from both Isaac and Erica who said they were on their way. He heard them howl and he answered back to help them pinpoint his location.

Keeping the floating light in sight he started forward slowly, debating whether or not to shift into his wolf. He might be able to keep track of the Fairy a little better but the flightily little bugger might spook while he was shifting. Apparently, according to Lydia, it kicked a lot of magic and weird mojo into the air and Fey are sensitive to that kind of thing. Scott had long since stopped questioning the Banshee when it came to magic stuff. He listened to the quiet of the woods and heard Erica’s familiar yipping and knew that she was already in her wolf form. Isaac shifted into a wolf every chance he got so the question of two or four legged was a no-brainer for him.

Scott spotted another Fairy circle on the ground and crushed some of the mushrooms with his foot before moving along. A moment later his phone buzzed in his hand and he glanced down to see a text from Derek.

 

_12:25am From Alphaman:_

_Having the others regroup. Get back to the house if you catch the Fairy. Try not to get cursed. Howl if you do._

 

Distracted by his Alphas overwhelming concern and faith in him Scott took a few steps towards the Fairy light and then stopped in his tracks. A warm, buzzing sensation crawled its way up his spine and Scott looked down at his feet in horror. “Shiiiit!” he whined, head already going fuzzy. Around him was a perfect circle of smooth river stones. He glared at the floating light coming closer to him and tried to raise his phone to alert the others but he couldn’t even feel his arm anymore.

Fairies sucked.

All he could do was let out a pitiful howl for help. Derek would never let him live this down.

Time passed a little differently in a Fairy circle. Scott for instance, had only been trapped for about five minutes, but it felt like an hour. He’d smoked pot once, pre-bite of course, and this was the closest thing he could compare it to. So he just stood there, high off magic, making little whimpering sounds as his eyes searched for his pack mates.

The first to emerge from the trees was Erica with Isaac hot on her heals, and boy, if Scott had not been loopy he would have found it very amusing to hear a fully shifted Werewolf attempt to laugh. It sounded like a snort and a wheeze and maybe some choking. The smaller wolf of sandy brown color with a tuft of brown on her chest sat on the ground and barked a few times, pawing at the leaves and shaking her head at Scotts' misery. Isaac had gone up to sniff Scott and the crooked jawed young man could feel their judgment.

“Heeelp,” Scott complained, feeling his muscles relax against his will.

Erica teased him by prancing around and Scott wished he had the mental faculties to growl at her or at least swipe at her fluffy head. Isaac took a few steps forward and made to bat away some of the stones but all of a sudden both wolfs tensed. Their bodies angled to the side to instinctually make themselves look bigger and they looked directly behind Scott.

“Guuuys?” Scott drawled, his sluggish heartbeat ratcheting up a notch. The fur along Isaac’s spine rose like bristles and Erica’s lips peeled back to show her fangs as she growled.

_“Down puppies.”_

Scott would have jumped out of his skin if he’d been able to. The voice behind him didn’t sound human. It was muffled, low and amused, but what Scott couldn’t wrap his foggy head around is that he couldn’t hear anything else. No footsteps, no heartbeat, no breathing. Nothing. Just the voice. Erica’s claws retreated, perhaps in shock, and Isaac’s ears flattened against his head.

“Well, you got yourself into a little mess,” the voice went on, and now Scott could hear footsteps treading over the dry leaves on the forest floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure emerged from the shadows. For a moment Scott thought he was hallucinating and all he saw were glowing golden eyes surrounded by pitch black and glinting metal. Scott couldn't tell if it was the Fairy circle or not but something deep inside him reacted to the new presence and his wolf thrummed with energy.

Erica and Isaac had a more visceral reaction when the stranger stepped closer. Every muscle in their lean animal bodies was taunt and tense, tails straight out behind them as they sank close to the ground. The man's heavy boot snapped a twig as he took another step forward and Erica let out a loud snarl, she and Isaac darting forward to stand between Scott and the stranger who held up his hands quickly. “Whoa, chill!” Erica snapped her teeth, looking pointedly at the man. The stranger looked down, catching sight of the guns on his hip. “Don’t worry," he said, each expression hidden behind the shield of the mask. "I won't even reach for them. You can let your friend out of that circle now.”

That gave the two wolves pause and Erica and Isaac exchanged an uncertain glance. Here was this guy in the middle of the Preserve, talking to two wolves like he knew they could understand, wearing a creepy wolf mask and telling them to help their friend out of a Fairy ring because hey, he wasn't going to pump them full of lead. Warning bells should have been going off like crazy but they felt absolutely no threat from this man. Sure, they felt _danger,_ like the tip of a blade running down their skin, but no threat. The man just stood there still as a statue but as watchful as a gargoyle, his bright eyes unblinking in the darkness.

Erica inched forward and then froze, keeping her eyes on the masked man while Isaac shifted carefully, ready to pounce at a moments notice. The she-wolf took another step, and then another small one right after. The stranger just cocked his head to the side and shrugged. Huffing, Erica slunk forward and swiped at the rocks surrounding Scott. As soon as the circle was broken the spell fell apart and the dark haired young man staggered, head clearing like he’d been shot with adrenaline. “W-what the hell?” Scott squeaked, eyes darting around. Isaac pressed his flank up against his leg, a growl rumbling in his chest as Scott took a step away from the masked man.

"So, fairy ring, huh." The stranger mused with a small nod towards the broken circle as he lowered his hands back to his sides.

Now that his mind as running at normal speeds and he was fairly certain that his life wasn't in immediate danger Scott actually _saw_ him. Under the dark clothing the man's body was tall and lean and he held himself with absolute predatory stillness. He'd only noticed the piercing eyes behind the narrow slits before and that had been all Scott had registered as a face, but now Scott saw that he was looking at a wolf mask. Sharp-eyed and cold, razor edges of metal ears tenting the man's hood and casting an even deeper shadow around his face. Behind that protective barrier however where the golden eyes that made Scott feel like he was stepping back into the Fairy ring.

“Who…are you?” Scott finally asked, feeling his wolf shift under his skin. From anticipation or wariness, he couldnt tell. 

The stranger was quiet for a moment and then he shrugged, non-committed. "Just a guy passing through."

Scott couldn't tell if he was lying. He could only hear a mechanically steady heartbeat. Erica snuffed at the air and Scott could tell she was trying to get a scent. "Um...so," he started, realizing then that this was just...so weird. "So these are...my dogs." Two pairs of wolf eyes and an unnerving pair of molten gold orbs fixed on him with unsettling intensity.

They could all see the stranger blink in the darkness. "Did they....get eaten by the two wolves?" And yeah, even Scott couldn't believe he'd said that.

A single Fairy chose that moment to flit between them, floating its little glowing butt right between the death glare from the wolves and the golden gleam of the stranger's eyes.

"Oh, shit," Scott swore, choosing to ignore the stranger in favor of fumbling for his mason jar. "Listen, sorry dude, but I'm sort of in the middle of something so-" Erica bumped into him to get his attention and when Scott looked up his eyes widened. "Oh, maybe you shouldn't...." The Fairys warm glow lit up the planes on the metal mask as the man raised one hand slowly, the bare fingers of his cut off gloves coming within inches of the Fairy. "Dude, _seriously,"_ Scott tried again, not wanting to deal with a cursing slinging Fairy just because some weirdo saw something shiny and wanted to touch. _"_ That thing is-"

 _“Síocháin, cara,”_ the metallic voice muttered to the little creature. The Fairy didn’t fly away. In fact, it fluttered just an inch from the man’s fingertips and _waited_. “What are you offering them?” The man asked, mask turning towards Scott.

Startled, Scott blinked. “...What?”

“ _Offering,"_ The man repeated a little more slowly. "You want them to go right? Well, you can’t ask them to do something without offering something in exchange.”

At a total loss, Scott looked and Erica and Isaac who had equally confused wolfy expressions on their faces. Lydia had not mentioned exchanges. She’d only said they had to trap them and trick them into leaving. Force their hand, like they did with most things becasue it showed strength. “Uhh….”

The stranger sighed and returned his attention back to the Fairy. “ _Bronntanas_? Mmm, _bia_? _Usgar_?” The little ball of light winked in and out, bouncing against his fingers. “Right, _bia_.” The mask glinted as the man nodded. He gave the Fairy a little push with his fingers and it flew up a few feet. “Leave something in the woods for them. They like food so a jar of honey and some fresh bread usually work. Pure honey, none of the processed stuff. They’ll move on before dawn.”

Scott was about to have a conniption. “How…what? _What_? What _language_ was that?”

All four of them looked to the side as a series of howls echoed through the trees. Erica started to pace, huffing in confusion as Isaac responded to the other howls. Scott shook his head in disbelief as he flipped open his phone and started to dial Derek's number. “Okay, you're just going to have to wait here and-” Scott looked up only to find that the stranger had vanished and the Fairy was fluttering slowly out of sight. Isaac barked in surprise and darted forward, nose dipping to the ground where the stranger had been standing.

A rustle ran through the air and Scott’s eyes fell on a wide-eyed and utterly confused Erica who had shifted back to her human form, naked as the day she was born. The blonde she-wolf gaped for a moment and then looked at the other two before uttering the thing that all three of them had on their minds.

“…What are we going to tell Derek?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish  
> Idiota - Idiot....(duh)  
> Bóg -God
> 
> Irish/ Gaelic  
> Síocháin, cara – peace, friend.  
> Bronntanas- gift  
> bia? –food  
> Usgar- jewellery


	12. Breathe and Freak out some more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe and freak out again because what. Had. He. Done.
> 
> He sat on the edge of his bed, face in his hands. “My god, you idiot. You complete and total idiot, why did you stop the car?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my lovelies, my long and stupid stressful move is DONE. I am so sorry for this delay in updating. I plan on doing some power posting of chapters tonight because I have been writing, I've just been without internet for weeeeks. It was painful. 
> 
> ENJOY! sank you for following!  
> No Beta, as per usual.

* * *

 

 

  ** _Kells, Ireland, 5 years ago_**

“Aww, Rua did yeh use that body wash again?” Sadie groaned, draping her arms over the boy’s narrow shoulders. He’d only just met up with her at the edge of the glen, night vision goggles on his belt and a set of knives strapped to his boot. He was currently perched on a rock, sharpening one of the knives with a wet stone.

"Maybe," he mused with a cheeky smile.

Sadie whined and let her legs go limp so almost her entire body weight was on the younger. “We can barely smell yeh now!”

The boy, Rua, laughed and had to stop sharpening his blade as soon as the extra weight made him dip down. “Because if you power sniffers can’t smell me then neither can the Rusalka. Win-win.”

The pale skinned Alpha nuzzled his fluffy brown hair affectionately with her nose. She was only a bit older than him but she’d already claimed the young Variant as her ‘pet’ as she so affectionately called him. Not to his face though. “My poor wee Betas are going tuh be pissed at yeh. They hate not being able tuh smell yeh. Say it’s weird.”

“I know,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Kristen told me she was allergic to it, which, odd because it has no smell, but I haven’t found anything that works better.”

Sadie laughed and ruffled his hair. “God, you’re too dense tuh live sometimes.”

“Hey!” The Variant gave a yelp as his head was shoved and he nearly topped from atop his rock. “Don’t say that, you just jinxed me!”

 

* * *

 

 

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present time.** _

 

The drive back to his house was less than eventful. Stiles drove just under the speed limit, stopped at every traffic light and used his blinker even though there were no cars in sight. The quiet neighborhood was dark and the streetlights cast a steady warm halo on the empty sidewalks below.

Stiles parked the jeep on the street corner instead of the driveway because stealthy the Jeep was not. He was almost relieved to see all the lights off which meant that his dad was asleep and holed up in his room like a tired hermit (albeit a deadly hermit but a hermit non the less). It meant he got to avoid the _‘son, why are you wearing your tactical gear?’_ look, which was usually followed by the ‘ _you better not have stabbed anyone with that knife in your boot’_ glare.

Just to be safe though Stiles went in through his bedroom window. As a kid he’d never really appreciated how nice of a setup he had in his room. However, now that he was older and actually sneaking in and out through his window in a way he’d never really had a chance to as a kid, he found that he rather approved of the whole layout. There was a small, narrow ledge under the window and not five feet away were some very sturdy tree branches a daring individual could leap onto. It was a little tricky if you didn’t have good balance and there was always the chance of over or undershooting either the ledge or branches but at least there were some nice big bushes down below. Stiles was confident in his balance.

Climbing through the branches as quietly as a cat, hardly sparing a moment to gauge the distance between branch and ledge the young man stretched his legs and jumped. His heavy black boots made almost no sound as they landed on the shingles, gripping like glue. He wedged his gloved fingertips under the window and slid it open, pulling himself inside and shutting it before drawing down the blinds in one fluid motion.

Eyes sweeping over his room for anything amiss and finding nothing out of place, Stiles listened for a moment or two to make sure he hadn’t alerted his father. The older man had weird moments of being totally hyperaware when he slept or being dead to the world. Stiles had tested it a few times and still couldn’t detect any sort of pattern.

Satisfied that the new Sheriff wasn’t going to be knocking on his door anytime soon Stiles flipped the lock on his window. The numbered black trunk lay half pushed into his closet where he’d left it and he made quick work of stripping off all his gear and folding it away again. The mask went in the quickest, buried under his shirt and his boots. The smaller weapons on his person were fit back into their proper places and once the case was locked and pushed to the back of his closet once again Stiles felt it was safe to breathe.

Breathe and freak out again because what. Had. He. Done.

He sat on the edge of his bed, face in his hands. “My god, you _idiot_. You complete and total idiot, _why_ did you stop the car?” He knew he hadn’t been recognized and the wolves, even fully shifted as two of them were, wouldn’t have been able to smell him, but he had _helped_. Protocol breaking aside Stiles wasn’t sure whom the two shifted wolves were though he did have some ideas. He’d seen their eyes flash yellow so he knew they were betas but they were not Scott’s betas. Sure, they had protected Scott from the perceived threat (Stiles) but they hadn’t listened to Scott's order when he told them to let him out. They’d actually made fun of him a little. When it came down to it, Stiles had broken the rules. He intervened between a Werewolf pack and Fairies and he’d helped to get a guy he _just met_ out of a Fairy ring. He’s assisted a pack that neither knew him, knew what he was, and had not asked for his assistance. If anything he’d just put himself on some random Werewolf packs Most Wanted list.

So Stiles had set out tonight to get some questions answered and as a result now had even more questions. One of them being Scott, oh Scott, _why_ were you in a Fairy ring? At least he had some leads on these Hunters. He’d have to do a little more digging on the ‘help’ they were getting from out of state and probably had to plan out a little interception if push came to shove but he still had some time for that.

The immediate problem is the locals. Too many supernatural creatures had just inserted themselves into his life for his liking and there was no way in hell he was going to let this get out of control. wasn’t like it was a rule that Variants had to introduce themselves to the local packs or anything so Stiles was confident he could just skirt along the edges of their attention.

...That is if they left him alone at school. That was his second immediate problem. How was he going to face Scott tomorrow morning? And he was expected to have _lunch_ with all of them too! He was not looking forward to it but wasn’t a big enough asshole to blow them off.

Stiles let out a thin pathetic moan practically throwing his bag onto the mattress and star-fishing over the comforter. Even with his eyes closed tight, palms pressing against them hard enough that he saw spots in the darkness, he could still see the cold, familiar glint of painted metal.


	13. Girlfriend of Potato Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No.” Scott shook his head surely. “Lydia, no. You are not telling me there are ghosts in the Preserve, it's already creepy enough out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, its gonna be a little dialogue I think. I like dialogue. Translations at the bottom. No Beta. I welcome corrections. *bow*

 

_**Beacon Hills, California. Present time, Next morning.** _

“I still think we shouldn’t have told Derek,” Scott grumped as he walked up the steps with Isaac, Kira, and Erica in toe.

“He needed to know,” Isaac argued. “It was weird okay, and I _live_ with the guy so it's really hard to keep secrets.” Even preoccupied with other things their Alpha had a talent for sniffing out secrets. 

Scott whined and if he'd been five he would have stamped his foot. “But Derek _always_ thinks everything is a threat! That guy helped us and now Derek’s going to want to kill him!”

“You make him sound like a sociopath,” Erica scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “The honey thing worked so he just said we need to keep an eye out when we’re doing patrols. No mention of killing anyone.”

“He wants to kill him,” Scott muttered sullenly, ignoring Erica.

“Sweetie,” Kira started, lacing her fingers through Scotts, “I know you want to see the best in everyone but you met a guy wearing a wolf mask walking around in the middle of the preserve last night. A stranger who knows how to talk to Fairies and bribe them.”

“And he totally helped us!” Scott argued.

“Noone's saying he didn’t” Isaac agreed, trying to pacify the man, “But Derek’s the Alpha and he needed to know.”

“You guys talking about your Mask freak from last night?” Jackson strolled up beside them with Lydia at his side. Lydia had stayed at the loft last night with Danny and had looked mildly interested with the story Scott, Isaac and Erica had come back with. She mostly just seemed pissed that she hadn't thought of the bargaining thing and the fact that the three of them couldn't remember a word of the foreign language the stranger had used. 

“He could be a magic user,” Lydia offered. “Or, given the use of a mask he could have been a spirit himself.”

“No.” Scott shook his head surely. “Lydia, no. You are not telling me there are ghosts in the Preserve, it's already creepy enough out there.”

The redhead rolled her eyes. _“Spirit,_ Scott, not ghost. Nature spirits sometimes wear masks.”

“Metal ones?” Isaac countered. _"Wolf_ ones?" 

“Who cares,” Jackson groaned. “Just one more thing to add to the freak show.”

“At least the Fairies left,” Kira offered with a little smiled. Which then faltered. “Oh, but I suppose we still have the redcaps to deal with…”

“You know, most people get paid for after school jobs,” Erica mused. “I say we ask Derek give us an allowance.”

“I’m sure that will go over well,” Isaac rolled his eyes.

Erica shrugged. “Hey, if I have to go out and save the town each night I at least deserve to buy myself some sexy spandex and ass-kicking boots.”

Scott suddenly perked up and gave a little hop. “Ohh, hey there’s Stiles!” He waved exuberantly and they all looked up to see a familiar mess of brown hair, plaid, and thick glasses head into the building ahead of them. Scott pouted. “Aw, he didn’t hear me.”

“Think he’ll eat with us today?” Erica asked.

“Only if Lahey didn’t screw it up,” Lydia muttered. They all winced a little remembering the colorful story their Banshee had spun for them. Isaac huffed and crossed his arms muttering about how he'd already apologized and how he thought the stuff was going to blow up so you’re _welcome_ Lydia.

Lydia let out a put-upon sigh. “Speaking of lunch though, I’m going to be late. I've got a meeting with the head of the Science department about my thesis project." She stopped at the top of the stairs and pointed at all of them, eyes narrowed in warning. "If Stiles _does_ decide to show up, do _not_ say anything stupid.”

Erica grinned and nuzzled up to the redhead, signifying a growing friendship that all of them were wary of. “Aw, you don’t trust us, Lydia?”

“No,” was the redheads blunt reply. “This isn’t high school anymore where we can just claim kids are making stuff up if they overhear us. We all remember the Greenburg Incident?” She reminded them with a stink eye at Scott.

Scott threw his arms out the side narrowly missing Kira who ducked with ease. This was obviously a well hashed out topic. “I didn’t even know he could _fit_ in the locker, Lydia. Why would I have checked first?!”

Lydia simply shook her head. “Stiles dad is the _Sheriff._ Scott, I know you like him, but we don’t need any more trouble.”

Wanting to argue, Scott made a face, ignoring how some students had to go around their stalled group. “I’ve got a good feeling about him, and Derek keeps telling us to keep an eye out for anyone who might be a good addition to the Pack.” Hell, Scott had been pushing for it mentally ever since he showed up Lydia and Jackson in math.

“I think we should tell Derek about him,” Erica agreed. “I mean, we’ve got redcaps tonight so he’ll be distracted and might just agree to meet him without any fuss.”

Isaac gave the blonde a droll look. “Maybe we should know this guy for more than a _day_ before we invite him to share in the _biggest secret_ _any of us have_?”

“Whatever,” Erica groaned, skipping up the steps ahead of them. “I’m meeting Boyd in the library so I'll see what he thinks. See you in Phys Ed, Kira!” She waved and ducked inside, hurrying down the hall.

“I still think it was a bad idea to recommend a kick-boxing class to her,” Isaac muttered, hand absentmindedly rubbing his stomach as he remembered their last training session.

All in good humor, Kira arched up her foot and nudged Isaac in the back of the knee causing it to buckles slightly. “It’s cathartic!” She stood on her toes and kissed Scotts check. “See you at lunch. Buy guys!”

“Seriously, remember not to be idiots!” Lydia called after them knowing Erica was still within hearing range.

Jackson snorted. “Fat chance of that.” The redhead sighed and rubbed her temple.

 

 

\-----

 

  

Stiles hated life.

He also hated his dad.

Well, not really, he loved that bastard, but had the old man been deliberately planning this crap? Having at least one of his new stalkers in every. Freaking. Class? Okay, AP classes with Lydia were sort of unavoidable but Stiles had at least hoped that Ancient Eastern Literature and Mythology would allow him to sit in a corner and think about what the hell he was going to do to prepare for midnight on Friday and just how he was going to save a bunch of his classmates fuzzy asses. Alas, nope! Allison spotted him immediately and perked up, giving him a little wave and motioning to the desk next to her. Stiles had to hold back the small twitch he felt trying to spasm his eyelid. He meandered over to the empty spot and sat down.

“Hi Stiles!” She said, all grins and sunshine. “How was your first day?”

Stiles dug through his bag for a notebook. He only had one because he didn’t really take notes. He just memorized everything. If he needed to. “Interesting,” he admitted.

Allison chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “My friends are a little much, aren’t they.”

“ _Un peu_ ,” Stiles returned, making a teetering motion with his hand.

Allison giggled and her attention was drawn to the door again, just as Stiles felt a static charge brush against his skin. Oh no. The electrified blur of a young woman that had rushed past him yesterday in the hallway breezed into the classroom. Kira grinned and waved at Allison and hurried through the other students to take up the seat just behind him and her friend.

“Kira, Stiles. Stiles, Kira,” Allison introduced promptly.

Kira set down her bag and immediately held her hand out to Stiles. “Hi!” She said brightly and Stiles wondered which of the young ladies would have won at a friendliness contest. Seriously, put them and Scott in one room together and they could cure cancer just by smiling at it. 

Stiles held out his hand slowly and shook Kira’s.Her's was small and calloused much like Allisons, but the locations were different. Her palm was scarred with healed over blisters from...a sword? Wow. A fox spirit wielding a sword. Stiles would bet anyone a hundred dollars that it was a Katana.

The dark haired woman glanced down at their clasped hands and blushed, ducking her head. “She was expecting you to check for weapons,” Allison whispered loudly.

“Allison!” Kira squeaked and Stiles laughed because it was either laughter or tears at this point.

“Well, since Allison wasn’t hiding a knife up her sleeve yesterday I was just going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he told Kira. Also, your potato wolf boyfriend got stuck in a Fairy circle last night so you need all the breaks you can get, Stiles thought to himself. 

Kira put a hand to her chest, looking grateful. “How sweet of you.”

“Told you he was a knight,” Allison said smugly.

Playing along at this point was second nature. “Only in my down time,” Stiles replied, making both girls giggle. He tapped his pen on the desk. “So, Ancient Eastern Mythology. Elective for you guys?”

“Part of my Asian studies minor,” Kira explained with a wire smirk. “My dad is a history teacher at Beacon High and he’s really gunning for me to major in general History. Mom is more big on Japanese history. She’s _super_ into our cultural heritage you have no idea, so I’m trying to find the middle road.”

“Is your mom a teacher too?” Stiles asked, wondering how old Kira’s mom must be and how fitting it was that a creature that could live to be thousands of years old loved her cultural heritage and wanted her equally supernatural daughter to be into it as well.

“Nah,” Kira replied with a wave of her hand. “She’s got some side businesses she works on. She also teaches Kendo at the local gym.” Stiles nodded politely and suddenly both girls eyes lit up. They looked at each other and Allison jerked her head towards Stiles as if to say' 'go on!' 

"Stiles, why don’t you stop by,” Kira offered excitedly. “I help my mom out on Mondays so I can give you an introductory lesson next week!”

Stiles had to physically lean back, distancing himself from that idea because no. Absolutely not. As it was he wasn't letting himself do anything sport related in school because he really didn't want to test his self-control that badly. Adrenaline mixed with a Variants instinct was not a good combination in a friendly game of whatever. “I…” he started, shaking his head. “Err, no, thanks, but that’s probably a bad idea. I’m _really_ uncoordinated and if you put a _shinai_ in my hand I can guarantee it will not end well.” And it wouldn’t for whomever was at the pointy end of his sword thanks to Leader Midori’s training back in Gifu. Woman was serious about her swordplay.

Instead of deterring the Kitsune with his warning, Kira’s eyes lit up in admiration. “You have no idea how many people pronounce it as _shiny_."

Like it was her own accomplishment, Allison said proudly, “Stiles speaks like a dozen languages."

“Oh, really?” A mischievous expression way too similar to Erica’s passed over Kira’s face. “ _Nihongo wa dekimasu ka?”_                       

If Kira was going to be savant-like Lydia Stiles was ready to jump out the window. He already had his hands full with the redhead but if this adorable Kitsune started trying to make him become a walking international dictionary he was going to scream. So he kept his reply short. “ _Sukoshi_.” Lying, but hey, there were no Werewolves around to point that out and Kitsune's ears just weren't the same brand of lie detectors. Small miracles.                        

Kira clapped her hands excitedly. “ _Awesome_! I only know enough to have basic conversations with my mom. Dad’s Chinese so I speak a little of that too, but not much.”

Stiles felt instant relief knowing he didn’t have to whip out an entire Asian lexicon first thing in the morning. Still….“ _Gengo o hitotsu wa kesshite tarinai_.”

The black haired woman let out a giddy laugh. “I only got half of that but my mom would love you. She’d be a total grammar Nazi but she’d talk to you for _hours_.”

The Variant grew a little nervous at that because he was pretty sure being interrogated by an older Kitsune for a few hours would make him say something he’d regret. He made a note to avoid the local gym and grit his teeth till lunch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French  
> Un peu: A little
> 
> Japanese  
> Nihongo wa dekimasu ka?: Do you speak Japanese?  
> Sukoshi: A Little.  
> gengo o hitotsu wa kesshite tarinai: one language is never enough.


	14. Ducklings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The easy lie worked like a charm and the Werewolf, Alpha freaking Werewolf, looked sympathetic. “Aw, man, that sucks. Do you have time to run home and get it?”
> 
> And there it was! His totally legitimate opportunity to bail on lunch! Stiles was about to jump on that olive branch like a raging minotaur that needed to be put down but-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you! no Beta, per usual.

_**Beacon Hills, California. Present time, Next morning.** _

 

Kira was thrilled that Stiles had agreed to eat lunch with them today much to his distress, because over the class period he had been thinking of ways to maybe be _just_ enough of an asshole so as to come up with some kind of excuse not to go. Nurses office? Family emergency? Suddenly came down with the plague?

But as they were walking out the door the side of his face started to tingle and he saw that none other than Scott and Erica were waiting there for them. Kira got a kiss on the lips from Scott and Stiles got a puppy grin. “Hey man, you ready for pizza?”

“Pizzas’ not the only thing they have there, Scott,” Erica reminded him as she sveltely hooked arms with Stiles. “Wednesdays are the soup and salad bar, and make-your-own burgers, but salads are stupid and burgers are awesome.”

“Such a carnivore,” Allison laughed and Erica barred her teeth while Stiles pretended he didn’t hear that.

As they made their way through the campus it wasn’t lost on the Variant the looks they were getting from some of the students. Curiosity, wariness, surprise, all types of expressions. His new entourage seemed unaware, or uncaring, of the attention but it made Stiles a little cagey. His initial impression of these people was that they really were an odd set of friends and apparently he wasn’t the only one, but while sometimes they got a smile from someone, other times a person would see them coming and promptly turn around and walk into the nearest classroom. Either his new fuzzy friends already had a reputation around Beacon Hills or Stiles was the butt of a school-wide joke.

Suddenly Stiles realized with a sudden sinking dread that he had completely forgotten to look at his dad’s files last night. He could have freaking kicked himself. Here he was walking into the proverbial wolf den and he had forgotten to do his background research! Bad Stiles!

“Hey dude, you okay?”

Stiles blinked and looked to the side to seek Scott looking at him with wide eyes and a fretful expression. “Yeah,” Stiles replied, managing to keep his voice on an even octave as he fiddled with his glasses. Scott looked like he didn’t believe him and he had to take a slow breath and smile, double checking that he hadn’t slipped up and let his heartbeat stutter. “I just forgot to bring an assignment with me.”

The easy lie worked like a charm and the Werewolf, Alpha freaking Werewolf, looked sympathetic. “Aw, man, that sucks. Do you have time to run home and get it?”

And there it was! His totally legitimate opportunity to bail on lunch! Stiles was about to jump on that olive branch like a raging minotaur that needed to be put down but-

“It’s your second day!” Erica exclaimed, giving his arm a squeeze and had she been holding on to him this whole time? “The professors will cut you some slack. Now come on, I’m _starving_.”

They entered a larger wing of campus and immediately the smell of food drifted over them. It was more of a food court than a cafeteria really, with different restaurants and service lines tucked into the walls. A partition had been opened onto the outdoor dining area where trees had been sporadically planted to provide shade. It wasn’t too busy but there were some lines for the more popular food where Scott b-lined too.

“Salad bar for me,” Allison announced, already breaking away from the group. “I’ll meet up with you at the table.”

“Laaaame,” Erica called. “Rabbit food!”

“Can't all live off raw meat Erica,” was Allison’s laughing response and she quickly bit her lip when she happened to catch Stiles eye and realized her slip up. Stiles sort of felt a little better because of that. I mean, there was careless and then there was _careless_. He still questioned the woman’s self-preservation.

“Ooh, Boyd’s already saved me a spot for burgers,” Erica pointed out excitedly. The tall man was indeed saving a spot in the line like a stoic Secret service agent, though he didn’t smile a little when Erica whistled loudly and waved at him. “Scott, get me a slice of cheese will you?” Erica practically skipped over to the burger stand without waiting for a response.

“You said you don’t even _like_ pizza,” Scott muttered, staring after the woman. He shook his head and turned his attention to his girlfriend. “You want me to grab you anything?” he asked.

Kira shook her head and motioned over to a forlorn looking Taco stall. “I’m craving enchiladas today.”

The crooked jaw looked even more pronounced when Scott pouted at the idea of having to be separated from him cheerful sweetheart and then Kira bounced up and kissed Scott’s nose to which both of them blushed and Scott waved at her retreating back. Stiles wondered when he’d get diabetes from them.

His mourning period ended quickly when Scott seemed to remember that Stiles was still there. “Pizza?” He asked hopefully, dying for someone to share in his love.

Stiles just couldn’t break his heart like that. “Sure,” he said with a smile. “Lead the way.”

Scott grinned and Stiles was shocked when the other grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the stand like he was leading around a stray puppy he’d found. Stiles recognized this behavior with a sinking feeling. Scott was doing the whole duckling imprinting on him in reverse. He’d met Werewolves when he was younger that had immediately felt protective of him and tended to treat him like a pup who needed guidance. Scott was doing this, totally unaware of the implications but thankfully he let go when they got in line and Stiles didn’t have to make it awkward by pulling his arm back.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise when Scott ordered the meat lovers supreme pizza with extra meat and a side of meat (no cheese for Erica she could get her own damn food), but when he ordered _4 slices_ and the guy behind the counter looked at him like he was insane, Stiles opted for something from the warming tray.

“We usually sit over there,” Scott said, motioning over Stiles' shoulder as the worker went about grumbling and setting up Scotts order. “Isaac said he would save our spots.”

When Stiles turned to where Scott was pointing he noticed a few things. One, Isaac was indeed holding down the fort alone, sitting at the table underneath a giant shady oak tree. Two, the young man looked _alone_. He was typing away on his phone, hunched over and keeping it hidden from sight halfway under the table. There was no food in front of him and if Stiles looked really hard he could see the curly haired man twitch whenever the group sitting nearest to him let out a particularly loud peel of laughter.

Stiles wanted to ask the Scott if Isaac was okay but he didn’t think that subtle body language cues would be something a normal person would notice and Scott was busy drooling over his pre-pizza. Stiles scratched at the back of his neck as he glanced at Isaac again. It reminded him of when he first saw Isaac sitting next to Lydia in the classroom, much smaller than his tall frame and trying to shrink into the background unconsciously.

 _Stop getting involved,_ a small voice in the back of his head hissed at him. He had already overstepped himself here and already had plans to butt his nose into the Alvarez families' plans. That was _more_ than enough meddling.  

“This might take a while so you can head over,” Scott insisted, giving him an apologetic smile and earning a glare from the worker who was dumping essentially all the meat onto his slices.

Stiles fished some money out of his pocket and slid his plate down the counter. He knew logically that Isaac wasn’t really alone and his friends would be joining them shortly, but something was just…off. It was like how he knew Józef was having a bad day or had gotten into a fight with his parents that morning. He might be lying about his age on paper ( _so_ helpful, John) but he was older than these guys and Stiles had always had an inclination to worry about those younger than him. Or maybe it was a Variant thing. Something about helping someone who needed help. Or something.

 _Do not. Get. Involved._ The voice in his head ordered.

Stiles reached out and grabbed another plate from the warming tray and slapped his money on the counter.

 

\------

 

Isaac’s arms were wrapped around his stomach and a frown was on his face. Derek had been out later than them last night breaking apart any leftover fairy circles and making double sure that their little offering of honey and bread and worked. The Alpha had been grudgingly accepting of the strangers advice but only because he was really stressed out about these Redcaps that had been showing up and leaving the corpses of small mutilate animals around the woods. Not only was the smell getting to him, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the small game fled and the Redcaps moved into a more populated area of town. The Fairies had been an unwelcome distraction to ridding the Preserve of the violent little creatures.

Isaac had been texting back and forth with the man, checking on the progress, and Derek’s replies had been curt and short. Isaac thought living with the guy for three years might have made him a little more talkative but he’d been mistaken. When Derek was grumpy, he stayed grumpy and Isaac was automatically pulled into his Alphas funk. To top it all off, he’d forgotten to bring money for food and was too stubborn to ask the others to spot him a few bucks.

Brooding in a pool of his own thoughts Isaac barely glanced up when he noticed a motion in the corner of his eye. A familiar plaid shirt and tall frame came into view and sat down at the table. Isaac took an automatic sniff of the air. And found that nothing had changed. He still smelled the food, the grass, the perfume from the obnoxious chatterboxes a few tables over, but nothing new. No sharp scent of anxiety, no smell of laundry detergent or body wash, and judging by the mussed state of Stiles' hair, he didn’t think the guy used any kind of product.

Stiles didn’t say a word as he set his two plates down and reached into his bag to pull out a book.

Isaac grew a little nervous, Lydia’s words ringing in his mind. What if he did something stupid again? He had no idea how to read this Stilinski guy and he’d never been good at small talk. He searched out the rest of the pack and saw that they were still in line for food. He desperately wanted someone else to fill the void here. Hell, he’d even take Jackson.

Isaac’s eyes bore holes into the table as he avoided looking anywhere else, keeping his expression neutral as he waited for the ‘so, how’s your hand?’ or the ‘why the hell aren’t you horrifically burned you enormous freak?’ Oh god, Scott and Erica would kill him if he somehow scared off the new guy.

Stiles shifted a bit and Isaac couldn’t help the flinch, feeling a little too wired not to react. The brunette glanced up from his book and hesitated for only a moment before he slid the plate over and then went back to reading.

Isaac stared at the giant slice in front of him and then looked at him with a frown. “What is this?”

Stiles glanced at the plate and flipped the page. “Mmm, meat lovers I think?”

Isaac sighed in irritation, wishing the other could pick up on his obvious discomfort and maybe stop talking to him. “I mean why is it in my face?”

The other shrugged. “You didn’t have lunch.”

Eyes narrowing, Isaac stared at the other man's innocent expression, searching for something. It had to be a trap. “I just forgot my money. I don’t need pity food.”

Stiles turned his head a little and raised an eyebrow at the other. “It’s not pity. It’s pizza.” Isaac continued to stare and Stiles sighed, turning the page. “Look, I got two slices. These are _massive_ slices and my eyes were bigger than my stomach for once. You can either eat it because you look like a guy that likes a good piece of pizza or I can throw it away because I don’t want my bag to smell nasty when I forget it’s in there after a few days at which point students will complain about the rotting smell and think I’ve got a dead cat in there or something and call the cops- my dad’s the Sheriff by the way, so _super_ awkward, - and I’ll be forever known as the guy who keeps moldy pizza in his bag.”

By the time Stiles had closed his mouth he had picked up the plate and was holding it up for Isaac to take. Isaac’s mouth was hanging open. Stiles waited for a moment before circling the plate under his face. “Mmmm, you know you want it,” he teased. Isaac jerked a bit and reached up to take the plate almost out of reflex, if anything just to get Stiles to stop waving it under his nose.

Stiles grinned. “Well, you saved me from committing social suicide. Thanks dude.” He turned his attention back to his book, leaving Isaac slack-jawed head cocked to the side and holding a giant slice of meat lovers pizza – Isaac couldn’t help but noticed that the other slices had totally been vegetarian.

 

 


	15. Tragedy Abroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can’t pretend it’s a vacation, Deepali,” Johan sighed. “She barely talks, barely eats. She’s hasn’t left Miecysław’s side since….” Deepali relented with a small nod when he trailed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the time skip, it was intentional. I felt that this scene deserves its own chapter. From here on I think the flashbacks will get steadily darker. Trigger warnings will be mentioned. 
> 
> If anyone has questions so far, please let me know and I will explain ^^  
> No beta.

* * *

 

 

_**Lyon, France. Early November, 14 years ago.** _

The tension in the air had a taste like a stale, stagnate water, uncomfortable and surrounding them till they were all but drowning in it.

The five individuals sitting at an old oak table in ornate chairs worn with age were silent. Each of them bore each other’s glances calmly but the subtle tells in their postures- stiff shoulders, watchful eyes, a twitch of a finger- were enough to give away that words were aching to come out. The first to break the silence was a stern looking Indian woman. Deepali leaned forward at the table and rest her hands in a prayer-like fashion. Her dark, kohl-lined eyes were hardened with deep sorrow and her mouth was set in a grim line, the creases on her face seeming more shadowed than usual.

“Johan.” Her rich voice was soft to the ears in the small room. “Have you given any thought to our suggestion?”

Johan sat between Hans and Mio; two people who could not look more different from each other. The petite Japanese woman –the youngest of them by three or four years- had her hand resting on top of his and her eyes cast down with a solemn expression. Her plain cotton dress was neatly pressed as was her thick black hair that had been tied up in a bun at the base of her neck. Where Mio was soft, Hans was all harsh lines. He wore a military-like uniform of dark green and his bright blonde hair, shaved short on the sides and long on top was slicked back. His muscular arms were folded over his chest, straining the sleeves of his jacket. His expression hard-edged and angry as it had been since he entered the room and sat down.

Johan took a deep breath and rubbed his free hand over his mouth. There were shadows under his eyes making the blue color look darker. “Taking leave?” he repeated, remembering bitterly what his fellow Base Leaders had been trying to tell him for the past two weeks, ever since.... This meeting it seemed, was their intervention. “She won’t even hear of it.” The man’s voice was hollow and scratchy. Mio bowed her head further and squeezed his hand.

Hans’ jaw clenched before he spoke and when he did, Johan could tell he was frustrated. “What if it’s under the pretense of a mission,” he offered, only to fall silent when Johan shook his head. Taking comfort in routine, in order, in _work,_ was something that Czesława would eventually do on her own. They didn’t need to tell her when to start.

“Isn’t there somewhere you’d all like to go? Poland? Back to Czech maybe?” Deepali tried, reaching for the familiar homelands of both the Variants and carefully avoiding the mention of America. “You have access to any of the bases.”

“We can’t pretend it’s a vacation, Deepali,” Johan sighed. “She barely talks, barely eats. She’s hasn’t left Miecysław’s side since….” Deepali relented with a small nod when he trailed off.

Hans shifted in his seat, glancing at his colleagues. “ _Noir_ ,” he used the formal name with a slightly angry tone.

The tall dark haired man in the corner rubbed his tired eyes, stress lines framing the corners of his mouth. “ _Oui_?” He muttered.the simple response the frown on Hans’s face deepened. “The Argents?” He said obviously. The very name made them all cringe but the German man continued. “Have you attempted to contact them? Bring any sort of punishment down on them?”

The simple response had the frown on Hans’s face deepen. “The Argents?” He said obviously. The very name made them all cringe but the German man continued. “Have you attempted to contact them? Bring any sort of punishment down on them?”

“No, _Gleb_ ,” The Frenchman bit out, returning the code name with just as much annoyance. “I’ve just been sitting on my ass since I’ve heard. Of _course_ I’ve made attempts to contact them, but guess what: they haven’t responded.” Hans scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment and the other man glared. “What is it you’d like me to do, Hans? The Argents are _Hunters_ , not Variants. I’ve technically no jurisdiction over them-“

“Don’t bullshit me, Benoit,” Hans snapped, throwing up his hand sharply. “You’ve got enough connections to make sure the Argents are put out of business for good. We’ve got mountains of files on Gerard alone and his psychotic daughter probably has a file cabinet set aside for her at a police station somewhere!”

“Again,” Benoit insisted, “they are _Hunters_ and they don’t even _reside_ in France anymore. There might be an estranged cousin or two I can lean on but I no more have control over _that_ family than they do my recruits!”

“You are a _Variant_ , in case it somehow slipped your mind,” Hans hissed. “And the Hunters respond to threats and intimidation just as well as anyone so you have _more_ than enough authority to-,”

“I cannot believe you just said that,” Benoit snapped in shock. “Having the _means_ to do something is not _authority_ , Hans, so don’t try to-!”

“ _Sajjanon_ ,” Deepali sighed, pressing her thumbs to her eyes. “This solves nothing.” Her voice was clipped with irritation and both men fell sullenly silent as she continued. “This is a time of _bereavement_ , not a time for accusations or pissing contests between two grown men.”

Hans then glared at the Indian woman. “You _know_ this could have been avoided, Deepali. We’ve known about these Hunters for years but we let them run wild just because their targets weren’t bonded to a Variant. They have killed _hundreds_ of Werewolves. _Innocent_ people.”

Mio frowned, taking a breath. “Hans, no one will disagree with you about that but we can _not_ monitor every Hunter and upstart bounty collector in the world who targets supernatural creatures. Hunters are many and we are few. As unjust as it may seem, it is as you said; a Variant never Declared to any of those unfortunate Wolves. If one had perhaps we could have intervened but what’s done is done and we shall protect what is within our grasp, not regret what has passed.”

Hans sneered and his chair screeched against the floor as he stood abruptly. “The Hales _were_ bonded to Mauve and they were ' _killed_ ,” he snarled. A red flush started to color the German man's cheeks standing out particularly vibrant against once side of his face in the form of thin dark lines. With the tension rising the men and women in the room grew stiffer in posture. On each of their faces like mood rings changing color, lines started to appear over their skin. Mio had two ragged strokes scrawled across her jawbone and Deepali had a thick red line scarring over her eye and down to her chin. Benoit's trailed down his neck, disappearing under his shirt collar. “An entire bloodline was bonded to a Variant and they all _burned_ ,” Hans hissed.

“Enough!” Johan’s rough voice cut through the air like a knife and silence fell more readily than it had grudgingly for Deepali. Across the side of the man’s face glared four parallel markings; claw marks reaching from his ear to his chin.

As the rage discharged slowly from the air the markings on all of their faces slowly faded away and Johan persisted. “The Hale Pack was Czesławas’ charge. She has the final say in whatever action is taken against the Argents and right now…” the man pressed is lips together, eyes shut tight. “If she wants to seek retribution we stand by her. As Base Leaders we will support her decision because it is _her right_.” He opened his eyes and looked at the other Base Leaders, the red marking having faded entirely, eyes once again shadowed by sorrow. “But right now…just let my wife be.”

The light clinking sound of thin metal bracelets tinkered through the air as Deepali moved her hands. The woman took a calming breath before she started. “We do not wish to cause her any more pain, Johan,” She began slowly. “but I must implore you to use caution. Your son has just presented and needs proper training from you both, but we worry about how this will affect Czesława in the long run. She needs time to recover."

the older man chuckled mirthlessly. The idea that his wife could _recover_ from something like this was laughable. there was no recovering from this kind of tragedy; this kind of failure. 

Deepali went on, tone even and cautious. "I would like to recommend that Miecysław be allowed to stay here and continue his training.”

Johan’s eyes flashed with indignation and he looked up at the woman. Mio's grip on his hand tightened. “Take her son from her? Are you _insane_?” he asked. “Our boy is the only thing holding her _together_ right now. You _know_ my wife.” Even the _idea_ of going home to his wife, seeing her sitting in bed with a pale face holding their boy tightly in her arms while he slept in her protective embrace, and attempting to tell her that she would have to _let him go_? Unthinkable.

Deepali sighed, meeting her comrade’s eyes steadily. “But the timing could not be worse my friend, you must see that. If it wasn’t enough that your son presented just before Mauve’s charges were….” She couldn’t finish. “A bond being broken in such a way is…it is devastating. We have all seen it happen. As close as Mauve was with the Hales I fear it will be too much for her to now start training your son, even with your help.”

Johan took a deep breath, feeling the side of his face sting with his anger. “I know the dangers as well as you do Kesri but Mauve is smart. She knows where to draw the line and she knows how to handle herself." He peered up at them through hooded eyes, gaze like steel. He knew what Deepali was alluding to. The break. The mental break that could happen immediately, or days, weeks, months, even years after a Variant’s bond was broken- or in this case, burned. It was brutal and terrifying, and almost always violent. It would have been smart and responsible to send their son away, allow Czesława time to mourn on her own and deal with the deaths of her charges in her own way, but Johna could not do that his wife; not after she’d been hurt so badly. “If it comes to that I will take care of Mauve myself.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French  
> Oui?: yes?
> 
> Hindi  
> Sajjanon: gentlemen
> 
> Also, here are the Base Leaders I have introduced so far:
> 
> European and Asian branches  
> Base leader Deepali Narang– India, Raipur (Hindi) – Kesri - saffron  
> Base leader Benoit De’noir– France, Lyon (French)- Noir- black  
> Base leader Hans Astor- Germany, Hanover (German)- Gleb- yellow  
> Base leader Mio Nakashi- Japan, Gifu (Japanese)- Midori – green  
> Base leader Johan (John) Styczyński – Czech, Liberec (Czech)- Zluta- yellow.


	16. Things that happen when Lydia isn't there to supervise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um… you okay?” Isaac asked hesitantly. He eyed Stiles like he was going to jump up and stab someone with a fork. Stiles had to say he was tempted. He had to get out of here. He had to leave now. Asap. Immediately. Right afuckingway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. Sorry TT

_**Beacon Hills, California, USA, Present Time.** _

 

It took a few minutes for the others to get their food (Scott's taking the longest and wow he'd needed four plates and two trays for all that pizza) but It was a full table now minus Lydia whose absence surprised Stiles, especially because her Abercrombie bodyguard was sitting there at the end and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

Hoping to avoid as much conversation as possible Stiles picked up his own pizza and kept his eyes on his book. It had worked with Isaac so maybe the others would take the hint. 

Unfortunately, hope was a distant dream for one Stiles Stilinski. "So I hear you booked it out of class kind of quick yesterday,” Erica started up the conversation as she popped a fry into her mouth with a little smile. Stiles was sure that if Lydia were here she would be glaring daggers at the blonde. He wanted to glare too but just managed to contain it.

Stiles cleared his throat lightly, not bothering to look up from his book. "Yeah." He noticed Isaac shift in his chair uncomfortably. 

“Emergency bathroom run?” Erica teased.

Now Stiles did glance up from his book. Was he supposed to have an excuse? He was pretty sure Jovana had mentioned all the times she’d skipped class on a whim so it couldn’t be _that_ odd. He was also 80% sure that Lydia and Isaac had already told Erica about it but he wasn't sure if she was fishing for a reaction that might let slip what he'd thought he'd seen. It was vexingly hard to be inconspicuous when you knew someone might know that you knew what they were, but _they_ didn't know if _you_ knew that they might know if you knew what they were.....

“Yeah," he said finally. "Something came up.” Erica's eyebrow rose in question while Isaac took a huge bite of his pizza slice, no doubt thinking about the beaker just as Stiles was. “I just had to head home,” Stiles finished with a shrug. Not a lie. He _did_ have to head home because of that mild freak out he’d had in his Jeep followed by the subsequent paranoid fact finding mission and dull reconnaissance in the middle of the night topped off with....Fairies. 

Speaking of generally disappointing supernatural creatures, Scott was halfway through stuffing way too much pizza into his mouth and only just managed not to choke by swallowing almost the entire thing between breaths. “Maybe you can hang out with us tonight?” he asked. Someone must have kicked him under the table if the loud curse and the glare at Allison was any indication.

"We've got plan's Scott," Allison reminded the other.

Scott scowled at the brunette who just stabbed at her salad with her fork. “ _After_ the thing, Allison, god.” 

"Hey, so when did Lydia say she was going to get here?" Boyd cut in randomly before biting into his burger.

Allison put on a sweet smile, ignoring Boyd's valiant attempt. “We don’t know how long that will _take_ , Scott.”

The young man huffed as Kira took a large bite of her food, not speaking on the pretenses that it was, you know, rude to talk with food in her mouth. Yeah let's go with that. “He can just meet us in the Preserve _after_ we’re done,” Scott continued as though the solution was obvious. 

At the end of the table Jackson muttered, "dumbass," under his breath. 

Pointing a pizza greasy finger at Stiles and ignored the tension he was causing, Scott went on. “I need your cell number by the way. We need to plan a bonding night of video games and junk food. Bro time.”

" _Bro_ time?" Erica snorted, trying unsuccessfully to cover her laugh with her hand but Stiles was already forgetting how to breathe. That laugh. The sort of wheezing-choke-cough from the night before. Oh, Jesus. _Erica_ had been the smaller sandy colored wolf trying to laugh when Scott was stuck in the fairy ring. Holy crap. Even the way her lips curled up reminded him of the she-wolf's glittering fangs. 

Filled with a giddy sort of panic Stiles swallowed and took a deep breath, closing his book. Only years of training were keeping his emotions in check at this point. “The Preserve?” he asked innocently because he couldn’t _not_. The whole lot of them froze and stared and yeeeees Stiles was getting some sick satisfaction from this just a little bit even though he knew he was going to drown in this hot water he was wading into.

“The woods," Allison cut in a little too quickly. "For a party. The woods are awesome for parties. We were at one last night.” Stiles could only nod at that excuse. Who was he to say where people could or couldn’t have their fake parties? Jackson shook his head wearily and opened his water bottle.

It was Kira who let out a nervous chuckle and tried to break up the nervous energy that as buzzing in the air. “Well, we can let you know about the next one if you want to come," she offered. "Did you go to parties at your old school?"

Magnanimous as he was, Stiles gave them a break as he took a small bite of his pizza. “Not really,” he replied casually.

"What did you do for fun?" the Kitsune went on, eager to grab ahold of that life preserver he'd thrown out. 

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. "I was sort of a home body. My dad gets paranoid when I'm out." He let that half truth echo in the ears of the more auditorily gifted of the group, not bothering to breathe deep and steady his pulse. Erica picked up on it first, eyes flitting over to Stiles curiously while Boyd just kept at his burger. Isaac noticed next and was giving Stiles the same kind of disbelieving look he'd had when he'd sassed Lydia, but then he noticed Stiles looking at him and he averted his gaze. Jackson was purposely ignoring them and Scott's attention was back on his girlfriend who was lamenting her own school outcast years. 

The Kitsune nodded in understanding. “My parents were kind of the same way when we moved here. It took me forever to convince my mom that Scott was a good guy and that he'd protect me from jerks if we went to a late night movie."

Scott looked at his girlfriend with heart eyes. "Aww, baby," he cooed and Kira gave him a shy smile. 

"I told you my dad was a high school teacher?" Kira went on, reminding Stiles of their conversation in class. "Well, I was in his class. It was a little hard for me to make friends right off the bat. Having a parent that everybody knows kind of makes you a social pariah. I mean, you probably know all about that since your dad's the Sherrif. Err, not to say that you're a pariah! You're cool. I mean-! well, I think you're nice...." As she went on her face grew redder till finally Scott was patting her back sympathetically. Stiles decided he liked the Kitsune, because that there? That was nervous blabbering but it was totally genuine and she was a sweetheart. No wonder she and Scott were dating.

The sharp, imposing clack of heels over the stone walkway drew the attention of most of the table and Stiles glanced up to see Lydia coming towards them at what he assumed was a hurried pace for her. She held a boxed salad in her hand and sat down promptly next to Allison, her green eyes sweeping the table suspiciously. “Sorry I’m late,” she announced. “Did I missing anything?” Stiles didn’t even need to be as observant to hear the double meaning in those words.

Kira shook her head looking only a tiny bit uneasy. “We’re bonding over being pariahs with influential parents.”

Jackson snorted loudly. Apparently, the blonde had decided he hadn’t met his douche quota for the day now that he had the strawberry blonde genius to impress. “Yeah, him being a cops kid has nothing to do with it. Do you see how he dresses? That alone kills his chances of any sort of popularity."

Since that had sort of been the _aim_ of his wardrobe selection Stiles simply pushed his glasses a little farther up his nose and chose not to dignify that with a response. Jackson could suck it.

Obviously misconstruing his silence for embarrassment Scott was quick to jump to his new friend's defense. “I’ve seen you wear a pink shirt, Jackson, so maybe you shouldn’t be so judgmental.”

“That was a $200 Valentino shirt, you moron," the other shot back smugly. 

Next to Stiles, Isaac’s jaw dropped in shock and mild disgust. “You spend $200 on a shirt and _Scott’s_ the moron?”

“Boys,” Lydia sang, a warning in her tone, but her word went unheeded much to her annoyance.

"Some of us _care_ about our appearance," Jackson sneered.

Isaac didn't look impressed. "Yeah, a little _too_ much."

Jackson did not share this opinion. “Not everyone considers scarves in the _summer_ the height of fashion, Lahey.” Stiles noticed that indeed, yes, Isaac was wearing a thin scarf. He thought it looked okay though, but what did Stiles know about fashion. Apparently nothing in Jackson's book. 

“It's comfortable, Jesus,” Isaac muttered. “You’d think _I_ was the cold-blooded one around here.”

Next to Jackson, Lydia’s eye twitched and she sighed as though the breath would somehow expel the stupid from around her. Stiles sort of hoped it would because this conversation was straying dangerously close to uncomfortable territory and he couldn’t believe Lydia was allowing this after the near chemical explosion with Isaac the other day. Socially awkward Isaac who apparently had a temper and a boat-load of sass if you pissed him off. While Stiles focused on tearing his pizza into little pieces with concentration one might use to dismantle a bomb, Jackson's and Isaac's argument grew more heated despite the others unsuccessfully trying to cut in and Lydia threatening to do horrible things to unmentionable parts.

“I didn’t run into a tree, you _threw_ me into a tree, asshole,” Isaac snapped in a sudden burst of anger. "Maybe next time I'll return the favor."

Panicked, Allison quickly glanced at Stiles who was starting to feel light headed and must have looked it because she immediately tried to make excuses. “Don’t exaggerate, Isaac,” she chuckled, like that was something people joked about every day. Oh, Stiles really wanted to know how she was going to salvage this one. “I know you and Jackson did the lacrosse thing for a couple of years but you could hardly _throw_ each other into anything."

Jackson made an affronted noise through his nose, tilting his chin up at the brunette and ignoring Lydia's frustrated noise and punch to his shoulder. “Oh, you're one to talk, Miss Sorry-I-forgot-the-safety-was-off."

Immediately Allison scoffed in disbelief, her spine straightening indignantly and all of a sudden some of the angelic sweetness was replaced by what could only be considered warriors pride. “That was an _accident_ and I already apologized for that.” She caught Stiles eye again and paled a shade, blurting out, “Paintball.” 

Lydia hissed at them sharply, “ _Seriously_?” her voice took on a harsh edge and Stiles felt a tickle in his throat and an uncomfortable ache in his ears. 

The glare Allison sent the curly haired young man when Isaac chuckled had him shrinking into his chair which made Jackson laugh. "What, am I not allowed to state the obvious anymore?" Jackson asked innocently. "Allison's trigger happy and Isaacs wears inappropriate seasonal outerwear."

“Get bent, jackass,” Isaac growled. Jackson flashed an evil glare and _hissed_ at him. 

Up until this point, Stiles had been watching and listening with muted horror but then he saw Jackson's eyes flash bright yellow and then bright. Fucking. Blue. No one seemed to notice or care and the Variant thought he was going to have a heart attack right then and there. It was at this juncture that he pulled upon his most basic and essential survival instinct to become invisible and let the known threat pass him by. 

“Guys,” came a deep rumble from the end of the table. Stiles amber eyes shot to Boyd, desperately hoping that he'd be the voice of reason. “Maybe it isn’t the _time_ for this…”

“ _Maybe it's not the time for this_ ,” Jackson mocked, too far gone into making everyone miserable to care about how much a jerk he was being. 

Boyd rubbed at his eyes tiredly as though he was used to this and had made this argument before. "Seriously Jackson, just...shut up." 

Jackson pulled a shocked face. "What, everyone gets to say what they want and I've got to tiptoe around the damn tulips because someone's _feelings_ might get hurt?"

"Maybe just don't be a douche to the only people willing to be friends with you," Scott shot back and Jackson laughed at some obviously inside joke.

Erica rolled her eyes and let out an aggravated groan, flipping Jackson the bird. “Don’t even bother, Scott. Did you forget that Jackson’s got a stick the size of his Porsche shoved up his butt but we’re all supposed to ignore it because he’s got a trust fund worth more than this school?"

“No one said that,” Kira piped in, cheeks bright red. “A-and no one is saying Jackson’s not an asshole. Sorry Jackson,” she added when almost everyone at the table shot her a ‘really?’ look.

Lydia rubbed her temples, eyes closed. “ _Surrounded_ by idiots…”

"Oh, quit with the high and mighty act, Lydia." Erica chastised accusingly. "You're just sitting there like a dumb side piece and-,"

"Oh, don't you dare take that tone with me, Reyes. I am _not-"_

"What? Acting like you're better than everyone else? Could have fooled me, Martin!"

"Guys, maybe-"

" _Butt out, Kira!_ " both girls snapped, eyes ablaze.

Stiles felt the tingle of warning brush over him before it even happened and his entire body tensed in preparation, like knowing a blow was going to come before the pain. Scott’s fists clenched over the table and he barked out, “Guys, _shut it!”_ Instantly, everyone’s mouth snapped shut and the table fell silent, protests and arguments dying on now tightly clamped lips. It was subtle, too quick for anyone else to see but Stiles wasn’t just anyone. Scott’s eyes bled a dull red and the responding eye shifts were yellow and blue, apart from Lydia and Allison who just pursed their lips and clenched their jaws, looking down at the table. Stiles could feel his own pulse under his skin like a steady drum. Before he could even blink the looks of chastisement and embarrassment turned hostile and the spell was broken.

“Bite me, McCall,” Jackson huffed before chugging half his bottle of water.

“Way to overreact,” Erica muttered, grabbing a carrot stick off of a stunned Isaac’s tray. Kira started rubbing Scott’s shoulder sympathetically while he simmered and Boyd shook his head like he couldn’t believe he hung out with these people.

Partially -well, fully really- stunned, Stiles was quiet for a few moments before he let his face drop into his hand, pushing his glasses against the bridge of his nose painfully. "Oh, _fuck_ my life.” The others at the table jumped and looked at him like they'd, to the Variants horror, forgotten he was even there.

“Um… you okay?” Isaac asked hesitantly. He eyed Stiles like he was going to jump up and stab someone with a fork. Stiles had to say he was tempted. He had to get out of here. He had to leave now. Asap. Immediately. Right afuckingway.

Allison reached out and was about to touch his arm when Stiles practically launched out of his seat, grabbing his backpack from the ground. “Sorry, yeah. No, I’m okay. I just realized that I was supposed to meet the athletics coach to go over some medical stuff for my elective requirements.” He lied flawlessly as was proven by not one of the Wolves’ expressions changing. There was no hitch in his heartbeat after all. Stiles would never make that rookie mistake even if these were possibly the dumbest Werewolves he’d ever come across. 

Erica frowned a little, innocently and unworried, like an _Alpha Werewolf_ hadn’t just eye flashed the all into submission in front of a complete stranger. “Are you okay?” She asked.

Stiles nodded quickly, avoiding the young woman’s eyes and _especially_ not looking at Lydia who’s reaction to all of this once it caught up with her was not something he wanted to witness. “Mm? Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Err, it’s a medical thing. It’s like…asthma or something. Really mild.” Jesus, he couldn't even think of a valid excuse right now. “Or something like that. I gotta’ head out though so I don’t miss him.”

“I didn’t get your number yet!” Scott called, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Later, man!” Stiles waved and dashed out of the lunchroom. He had to get the hell out of here before they all realized what happened and went into damage control mode because he’d been right. Scott was not a Beta, Jackson was not just a Werewolf, Allison was so _totally_ a Hunter who forgot to check her safety –a comforting thought,- and Lydia was probably a god damn Banshee. Holy fudging crap.

 

\-----

 

The sight of Stiles running away was starting to get familiar. 

Lydia’s green eyes were as wide as they’d ever been, her spine ramrod straight as she watched the brunette disappear into the crowd and eventually around the corner, totally forgetting about his book which lay on the table in front of them, a reminder of the fact that someone has been in that seat only a second ago.

“Lydia?” Allison asked carefully, putting a hand on her friends' shoulder as her brow creased in worry. "You alright?" 

Lydia bringing her hand up to her mouth certainly didn’t help and each of them tensed for a scream but nearly fell over when the redhead let out a thin squeak. For a few moments they jut stared at her, trying to understand what the look on her face was for, and only Boyd seemed to be with the program and he shook his head, letting out a disheartening sigh. The lot of them were silent, frozen as their brains caught up with just _what in the hell they had done._  One by one each of their faces paled like the souls had been sucker punched right out of them. Scott's crooked jaw dropped. 

The Huntress was the first to move. She buried her face in her hands, cheeks flushing vividly red all the way to her ears. “Oh god," She breathed. "Oh my god,  _paintball_? What was I _thinking_?”

Water bottle still half raised, suspended and forgotten in his hand, Jackson stared straight ahead. “…I… think my eyes flashed,” he deadpanned with none of the confidence he had a moment before.

“Everyone’s did," Scott groaned weakly. He looked ill. Now that all the infighting had taken a back seat, they _all_ looked ill. 

Erica let her head thump on the table hard enough to get some stares from nearby students. “What the hell just happened?” came her muffled, monotone voice.

Kira fidgeted in her seat, biting on her bottom lip. “A-any chance he didn’t notice?” she asked weakly, her tone telling that not even she could muster up that much hope.

Knowing that Kira didn't really expect an answer, Lydia snapped, a rare blush coloring her cheeks. “Jesus Christ, even after I warned you all _this morning_!”

"You didn't exactly _help_!" Erica shot back. Lydia only grew redder because she didn't have a rebuttal for that which made it all the worse in her eyes.

“He’s going to think we’re total nut jobs,” Scott whined, pulling at his hair and lamenting his loss.

Isaac actually seemed a little put out by Scotts worries and he gazed at the little bit of crust leftover from his pizza, frowning to himself. “He’s going to tell the Sheriff we're on drugs or something.”

"Well, we're screwed," Allison agreed, letting out a forlorn sigh. "Dang, and I really liked him too."

Lydia's gaze suddenly snapped up to them and fixed right on Allison. _“That's_ the problem!" she hissed out. 

Glancing to the side unsurely, the brunette asked her friend. "What is?"

Lydia looked like she was getting revved up for something, meaning she was trying to work out a connection that the others hadn't seen yet. "You _like_ him." Lydia repeated, stressing the words. "We _all_ like him."

Jackson grumbled, _"Some_ of us."

"Jackson, you haven't threatened him with bodily harm," Lydia snapped at him. "That's an endorsement if I ever saw one."

Erica raised her head from the table with a vacant, dead look in her eyes, as though any second she would slide off her chair and try to melt into the ground just to be done with all this. “What does that even _mean_ woman?" 

Some of the fierceness crept back into Lydia’s expression and she leaned forward, voice dropping into a whisper. “Don't you guys get it? We all _like_ him. He’s human, and a stranger, and _not_ Pack, and we all suddenly think that he’s okay?” she hissed. “When has that ever happened? When have we all just been unnanimously okay with someone?" None of them could recall a single time. "Something is really _off_ with that guy. Can’t you all see it? None of the Wolves can smell him _, I_ can't get any kind of vibe off of him, our True Alpha has a love at first sight man crush on him, our Huntress feels absolutely _no_ need to do a background check on him-“

“He’s the Sheriffs' kid,” Allison defended herself weakly.

“You and your dad ran a background check on the new mailman, Allison,” Lydia shot back. 

“So, what?” asked Isaac, feeling brave enough with his curiosity to draw the redhead's attention. “You think he’s a bad guy or something?”

Scott looked heartbroken. “No way! Lydia, come on, Stiles is awesome! You just said you liked him!”

“I don’t know,” Lydia huffed in frustration. “It could be magic, it could be a trick, but Derek’s taught us well enough that when something is too good to be true, it’s usually not true. This is Beacon Hills. We know better than to just go around trusting total strangers. How many times has that got to bite us in the ass for it to stick? Something is up with that Stilinski kid and I for one want to figure out what it is before we end up doing something we regret.”

Allison sighed, leaning her elbows on the table. She looked resigned and just a little bit melancholy, a feeling shared by most of them. “So what’s the plan then?”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed and she turned her gaze to Jackson. “Jackson, call Danny.”


	17. Hi, I'm Danny. I'm not a stalker.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Stiles neck and his defenses began to rise once more. Them again. "Small world," he muttered, almost too low for Danny to hear. Small, ironic, cruel world. Would it be rude to just run down the hall without an explanation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shitty chapter is shitty. I'm so sorry about this travesty. The whole way I wrote it just bothers me because its so...rough? not the right word, but that's how it feels. I may go back and edit.  
> no beta.

Given the events that transpired in the food court one would have expected Stiles to take another half day like yesterday. Go home and abuse his father's law enforcement resources, or  call up one of his old contacts just to bitch and spaze and rant about how the sun in California was frying people's brain cells and maybe the Supernaturals in Beacon hills were on some kind of drug.

He was just as panicked and horrified by yesterday's discussions as he was today but this time for even more worrisome reasons. Over the years he’d met some open, proud, unapologetic Werewolves but this bordered on suicidal! Flashing their eyes in a public place, growling, alluding to what he _knew_ was Pack business because he - against his better judgment- had helped them last night, practically popping their fangs and claws right in the middle of the cafeteria? Were they always this careless? Scott had at least had the presence of mind to put a stop to it but if this was how they kept on the down low no wonder an out of town Hunter family had heard of them and was already planning their strike. This pack- or whatever it was- was a mess. It was a dangerous mess.

In the end, however, despite the fact that he had every reason to hop in his jeep and run home, Stiles actually did go to see the Coach.

As if he didn't have enough to deal with, Stiles was supposed to complete a semester of physical education before he could graduate. His dad had apparently drawn his class list from a hat and stuck him in swimming, which was bullshit, because that old man knew very well that Stiles hated swimming with a passion. If he'd been meant to swim he would have been born with fins. It wasn’t as if he was opposed to physical activity or anything but he didn’t want to risk it for the same reason he didn’t want to visit Kira’s mom at the gym. No, if he wanted exercise he’d go for a run in the woods. With 30 pounds of weights strapped to his wrists and ankles. Blindfolded. After taking a dose of Nyquil just to make things interesting.

He'd thought about coming to school with a cast when the time came but that was a long commitment and even more excuses he’d have to come up with, so in the end he decided he'd say he had some kind of chlorine allergy and hoped that would be enough to excuse him from this particular requirement and maybe get him switched to safe and simple track and field where he could just run in a giant oval and everybody minded their own business.  

However, there was one thing that Stiles with all his experience and training could have prepared for and that was one Coach Bobby J. Finstock.

Before the already strung out Variant had even told him what he'd come there for, Finstock had started to regale him with his complete backstory. The loud spoken Coach had single-handedly led the Beacon Hills high school lacrosse team for ten years, molded little hormonal snot monsters into players, and made sure they marginally passed his class. When some of his best players graduated he’d followed them to college. It wasn’t stalking, it was protecting his investment, he insisted. 

Stile realized the Coach might be insane.

"So, allergic to pools, huh? Sucks to be you," the older man said after he'd settled down. "You still need the athletic credit. You're not allergic to sunshine are you? Because I’m not letting you do ping-pong if you are. I won't let anyone take a ping-pong class. Swear to god I’ll get that class to die if it’s the last thing I do. Your legs are fine, right? Jumping a hurdle won't snap your shin in half?” Stiles was pretty sure the Coach was high or something but as soon as he opened his mouth to answer the man was scribbling something down on a form and griping, “I swear, you kids these days will break your own legs to avoid moving your lazy asses. Rather be playing that Pokey Go crap than throw a real ball around." Stiles didn't even have the chance to say he had no idea what the man was talking about before the Coach announced suddenly and without consulting him at all; "I'm okaying your switch to track and field. Here's your permission form. Join the lacrosse team when you get bored of running around in a circle." The older man then looked up for what might have been the first time since Stiles entered the office and actually took a moment to look him over. His eyes narrowed under bushy brows and Stiles felt his own eyes narrow behind his glasses, wondering what to expect. 

“You need outdoor sports," Finstock said finally. "You're freakishly pale." Stiles nodded awkwardly as he shifted his weight on from one foot to the other. Once the Coach had shoved the signed permission form at him Stiles excused himself and started to make his way down the hallway aimlessly, trying to process everything he’d just been subjected to. At least while the Coach had been talking he hadn't had time to dwell on more pressing problems in his life. 

When he felt a light tap on his shoulder he almost jumped out of his skin. Stiles whipped around fast, hand slipping to where he kept a flat knife clipped to his belt loop.

The man who'd come up behind him was tall and tan with dark hair and thick, perfectly even eyebrows. He was good looking there was no vanity in the way he held himself. Even his cologne was unobtrusive and pleasant. The smile he wore was even brighter than- dare he compare them?- Scotts. Stiles had never seen whiter teeth.

The man held his hands up quickly when Stiles tensed like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. “Whoa, sorry about that,” he apologized, making sure not to move too quickly. He looked as caught off guard as Stiles felt. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Feeling a little off his game and overly paranoid, Stiles let out a breath and brought his hand out from behind his back to subtly rest on his hip, forcing his shoulders to relax. He didn't feel anything from this man. No tingling, no itch in his throat or burn on his face, and no ringing in his ears. What an absolute fucking relief. This guy was human and therefore not someone he needed to threaten with a sharp object. “It’s okay. My head was somewhere else.”

The tan Adonis glanced over his shoulder towards Finstock’s door and then back to him. “He didn’t quote Braveheart or Independence Day, did he?”

Stiles lips parted and closed twice, vaguely recalling those movies he and his dad had watched once upon a time. “…He does that?”

The tan man chuckled. "Before most games usually."

"Lacross?" Stiles guessed, both to the game the man was referring to and the sport he might play.

The other gave a pleasant nod. "I've been a goalie since high school. I’m Danny by the way.” He made a motion in the direction Stiles had been walking and they fell in step beside each other. “So, um, I’m actually friends with Lydia and Jackson.” 

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Stiles neck and his defenses began to rise once more.  _Them_ again. "Small world," he muttered, almost too low for Danny to hear. Small, ironic, cruel world. Would it be rude to just run down the hall without an explanation?

Danny shrugged, looking a smidge guilty and Stiles was sure that he knew what his friends were putting him through. “Most people around here went to high school together. Word got around that you were swearing at Lydia in archaic Latin and some are betting she'll either poison you or you'll start dating."

Stiles blinked and his feet stopped moving. "I did not _swear,"_ he told him, offended by the rumor. Nevermind that the Abercrombie model Jackson would have tried to run him over with his designer car sooner than see him ask the redhead out. 

Danny just chuckled and they continued walking. "Either way, hell of a first day."

"Tell me about it," Stiles grumbled listlessly. A time machine so he could go back to yesterday and avoid Allison and his classes altogether was something he desperately wished for. A time machine would have been _great._  But, he had no time machine, all of this crap had happened, and Stiles had to suck it up and deal with it like a grown up. He held out his hand to the other casually was they strolled down the hall. “I’m Stiles,” he said, putting on a small smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes, not that Danny would be able to tell. “But you already knew that."

Danny's cheeks held a chagrined red tint and he reached out to shake his hand. As soon as their palms met, however, he paused and looked down at them. Stiles wondered if maybe his grip had been too strong or if maybe Allison was telling everyone that he shook wrists instead of hands, but Danny just shrugged a little, his smile turning shy and he released his hand after a small up and down movement. “Nice to meet you, Stiles. I mean, I'd probably have met you eventually since you’re hanging out with the others so much now, but...” Stiles wanted to argue with that because their version of _hanging out_ seemed a lot like ambushing him in class. “I just thought a nice informal introduction would be better. I know how intense those guys can be.”

Stiles had to laugh at that one. “I’ll bet," he said ruefully. "Were they always like this?”

Danny shook his head, obviously in on a joke Stiles wasn't aware of. “Oh, god no. It was only me, Jackson, and Lydia back in high school. I won't lie, they were kind of jerks back then. Well, Jackson is still a jerk but he's much better now. I can't say much for the rest of them because we weren't really friends until our junior year. Ran in different circles, you know?"

Despite himself, Stiles curiosity was peaked. He'd known that this groups dynamics had been off and that timeline gave him something to work with. Something to look into. “Did something happen in junior year?” 

Shifting his bag on his shoulder, Danny paused for a moment. They'd come to a doorway and stopped to let two girls wander through. Both girls glanced at them as they passed and then looked away quickly before giggling. “Oh, stuff,” was Danny’s casual reply before he went through the door first. “Our town is kind of…unique. We had a lot of really bad stuff happen in the last couple years. Animal attacks, natural disasters, shootings, some pretty bad crime sprees... I’m sure you’ll hear about it eventually, your dad being the new Sheriff and all.”

Eyebrow raised, Stiles fixed Danny with a keen look. "Word does get around." 

Danny just gave him a sheepish smile. "Well, all the tragedy kind of brought everyone together,” he finished, not offering any excuse.

Stiles nodded sagely and sighed in sympathy. “Acute stress reminds us of our common humanity,” he quoted with a little shrug, remembering one of his lessons. Noir had always been one for sentiment like that. He was surprised when Danny barked out a laugh next to him.

“Oh, man,” the other chuckled as though he was surprised by his own reaction. “Common something at least.”

Stiles really wished he’d remembered to read his dad's files yesterday because this is the kind of shit that could have been avoided. “Sharing is caring,” he offered lamely, because prying might set off alarm bells and that was the last thing Stiles wanted right now. 

“Amen,” Danny agreed. The light-hearted tone of their conversation was not something Stiles expected to last and he wasn’t surprised when Danny asked, politely curious; “So Stiles, what brings you to Beacon Hills anyway? Family? School?”

“Change of scenery,” Stiles went with after a second of thought.

"You lived abroad right?"

Stiles wondered if this small talk was going to lead up to something. "We traveled a lot. My parents had busy jobs."

"Are they both in law enforcement?" Danny asked. 

Stiles swallowed down a lump in his throat, staring at the ground ahead of him. He was thankful that he didn't have to worry about controlling his heartbeat to cover any lies. "Yeah."

"So why Beacon Hills?" Danny inquired further. 

Rubbing the back of his neck to ease away some of the building tension, Stiles glanced off to the side. "My, uh, mom and I actually used to visit here a long time ago. We own a house here." Stiles felt another lump rise in his throat and he swallowed it down, face going expressionless.

The friendly smile on Danny's face didn't flicker for an instant, seemingly unaware of the distress he was causing. "That saves some hassle. Are both your parents are already set up with jobs here then? I know our police department is a little short staffed."

"...My dad is," Stiles said with a shallow breath.

“Your mom?” Danny asked quietly, the smile dimming.

There wasn't anything forcing Stiles to tell the truth. He could come up with any number of lies, god knows that's what he'd been doing most of his life, but was there any point in doing it now? It wasn't as though he had to lie for a job or to protect his identity here. He wasn't doing anyone any favors. So, all he could do was swallow and smooth the old hurt from around his mouth and eyes before he answered. “My mom died a while ago.” It sounded forced and strained even to his ears.

The smile fell from Danny’s face and Stiles wondered if telling the truth had been the best idea because now Danny was looking at him like he’d accidentally run over Stiles puppy and Stiles _really_ hated those kinds of looks. “I’m sorry, man,” Danny apologized quietly. He made an aborted move with his hand before he placed it on Stiles shoulder lightly. “That’s really rough.”

Stiles cleared his throat loudly. He had to put a kibosh on this topic a.s.a.p. He motioned down the hallway, subtly shrugging off Danny's hand with the movement. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Professor Rogers class is, would you? I’ve got him for creative writing but he’s not in the English department for some reason.”

Grabbing at that olive branch gratefully, Danny nodded. “Yeah, I know where he is." He paused a beat, probably feeling as awkward as Stiles did. "Are... you majoring in English?” 

That was definitely a question he'd not been prepared for and Stiles had a brain freeze, unable to remember what major he'd declared. Something in law enforcement? No, that was his dad talking. The entire field of Science was out of the question unless he wanted to find some sort of incendiary in his car courtesy of a competitive redhead. “Um, I’m undecided,” he answered finally.

Danny smiled in what might have been a reassuring way if Stiles had been looking to be reassured. “Well, Rogers class isn't hard. He’s really big into mythology and folklore." He went on so casually that had Stiles been anyone else he probably wouldn't have reacted to Danny's next words. "I’ll bet if you write a story about Werewolves or something you’ll get an automatic A.”

Subtle you are _not_ Danny boy. Stiles was sure that none of the wolves realized that he actually knew about them so Danny wouldn't know either, or maybe Danny just yanking his chain. Either way, it was too much of a coincidence. He pushed his glasses up his nose to avoid looking Danny in the eye.“Werewolves?” He repeated while repeating a mantra of _be normal, be normal, be normal_ , in his mind. 

The other man shrugged one shoulder. “Vampires, Werewolves, why not? I personally like to think there are men who can change into beasts at night.” He grinned, dimples making an appearance. “You know, apart from my one night stands.”

Stiles found himself reluctantly being swept along by the others good humor. “With all that fur they’re probably really warm. That’s a plus if you're into cuddling." After he’d practically roasted alive finding himself in the middle of what he could only consider a puppy pile one too many times, Stiles would know.

Danny just grinned brighter at the brunette and Stiles thought he might have said the right thing. “I suppose that's true," he said. Then he stalled for a second or two, glancing at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. "Um...so you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but do you think that kind of stuff is real?" he asked.

Stiles swallowed and gripped his bag a bit tighter. He had to be careful here. “What stuff?"

He felt Danny' watching him carefully, looking for any sort of unfavorable reaction. "Supernatural stuff." You know, the usual stuff people generally ask a total stranger about.

After licking his lips, Stiles amber eyes met Danny's from behind his glasses and the taller man looked away. "I guess," Stiles replied. No way he was stepping on any more truth bombs today. 

Danny scratched the back of his neck, backing off a bit. “I know, it's a weird question, but, well, I feel like a jerk making you mention your mom before so, hey, Werewolves,” he said with a flatteringly shy blush. "Indulge me?"

Stiles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because oh, the irony hurt. They passed a few more stragglers in the hallway and he thought for a moment before letting out a dragging sigh that wasn't entirely fake. "I guess I do. I mean, there are myths and legends for a reason, right? It can’t all be made up. I don’t think people are that creative.”

Stiles wondered if Danny had to practice looking that casual. "You don't think somebody was just scared of something they can't explain?" he asked.

“What," Stiles responded, "like some guy saw a timber wolf for the first time and there just happened to be a full moon that night?"

Danny nodded. “That's where the silver bullet thing comes from I think. Something to do with the moon. It seems like there are some pretty violent ways to kill Werewolves that you wouldn’t really think about unless you were freaked out or desperate or, you know, insane.” 

Stiles was thinking back on very similar conversations he’d had with other Variants. Of course he'd had to know about all these myths, stupid or not, to understand more about the creatures he'd be dealing with. There was alway a little bit of truth in everything. “The silver bullet theory is from The Beast of Gévaudan. It's from the 19th century so it's actually pretty new. Some people think it's more linked to the idea of certain metals corresponding to planets and any gray or silver metal is linked to the moon. Oce people got the idea that Werewolves changing were linked to lunar phases, they started making connections."Silver is hard enough to be fired, but the impact effect is questionable. Though, silver plating would be okay as long as the core of the weapon is iron or steel.” It was probably a little more in depth than Danny had expected him to go, but Stiles wasn't worried. There wasn’t anything wrong with sharing this kind of information. These things weren’t secret. Plus, it was kind of nice to have a familiar conversation with someone other than his dad and he knew from experience that he could brush it off as having played too many online RPGs. "If anything, I think silver arrow tips would be the way to go. They don't go fast enough or far enough to really warp the metal, and if they're made correctly the impact when they hit the target won't change the shape either. In theory, silver plating would be okay as long as the core of the weapon is iron or steel.

"Do you think a silver bullet would take down 200 pounds of angry man beast?" Danny asked. "Even if normal bullets don't work?"

"A bullet of any kind has stopping power," Stiles replied. Especially ones coated with Aconite, he thought to himself. Poison is poison. "Even taking into account any sort of supernatural healing abilities, getting shot still hurts." It was probably a little more in depth than Danny had expected him to go, but Stiles wasn't worried. There wasn’t anything wrong with sharing this kind of information and he was keeping it in the realm of what someone who was just a big fan of pop culture might know. These things weren’t secret. Plus, it was kind of nice to have a familiar conversation with someone other than his dad and he knew from experience that he could brush it off as having played too many online RPGs. "If anything, I think silver arrow tips would be the way to go. Arrows don't have the same distance to cover as a bullet and if they're made correctly the impact when they hit the target won't change the shape either."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," Danny said, blinking owlishly.

Stiles shrugged. “I read allot. Play games. I pick stuff up. The silver theory would actually make more sense if it was elemental mercury."

"Whats?" Danny asked.

"Quicksilver,” Stiles explained and the others man's eyes widened more. “That stuff is toxic no matter what you are.”

“Jesus,” Danny muttered, looking enormously impressed. “No wonder Lydia likes you.”

Stiles did blanch at that and turned on Danny. “What? She was going to stab me with her shoe yesterday. How do we go from stabbing to liking?”

Danny just laughed at his apparent confusion. “It’s actually scary easy for her. But seriously, I’m pretty sure she’d love to hash out myth stories with you.”

Stiles gave the other man a wary look. "I'll....stick to just being her lab partner for now." At least there he had Isaac as a buffer. 

"Fair enough," Danny conceded, though his mouth pulled up at the corner. 

Stiles nodded and decided it was about time to turn the tables. “Well, now that I've answered your question, what about you?" He asked. “What’s your stance on the supernatural stuff?”

A look of surprise passed over Danny’s face and he blinked his dark brown eyes, like he wasn't sure if he'd heard him right. Like no one had ever asked him that question before. “Mine? Oh, well...hm, that’s a good question.” He thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. “I don't really buy into what Hollywood sells. Twilight made me throw up a little even if Jacob was hot. The idea of Imprinting in general just made something in my soul die." Danny's expression turned solemn. "I don’t think it's an impossibility for Werewolves to exist, or magic for that matter. My grandma always told me that there are just too many things out there that we can’t explain and fairytales are just lessons that have gone through a lot of translations and PC filters.” When he was done he glanced over at Stiles, studying his expression with just a hint of trepidation that he hid very well. He put on a small, shy smile. “I guess this is kind of a weird conversation.”

Stiles shook his head and chuckled softly. “I've had worse,” he said. “I know what your grandma means, though. Fairytales are just shadows of their original stories. You rarely hear about Cinderella’s stepsisters cutting off parts of their feet, or Snow White being suffocated with a bodice. Hell, even Little Red Riding Hood has become this ten-year-old girl who lives in a world where a talking wolf will put on an old ladies nightgown and climb up in her bed.” That last story gave the Variant in him a secret pleasure to bash. “There are plenty of lessons to learn from these stories and not all of them are the kid friendly ‘be nice to others; or ‘don’t talk to strangers’ warnings. You just have to read between the lines.”

Danny's voice was filled with something close to awe. "You sound just like my grandmother."

Stiles shrugged. “She's a wise lady.” Danny had apparently stopped paying attention to where he was walking, hanging on to Stiles every word, and he bumped into a trash can. He jerked forward, arms already pinwheeling to try and avoid a massive face plant onto the tile floor before Stiles reflexes took over and he reached out, arm wrapping around the other man's middle. He pulled him back up, holding him steady and using his heel to kick the garbage can out of the way. “You okay?” Stiles asked, nose twitching as his glasses slid down a bit from the movement.

The bright red that colored Danny’s cheeks made Stiles brows rise. Danny straightened himself quickly and smoothed out his shirt. “Wow, you’re pretty quick, thanks."

Stiles pushed up his glasses and nodded. “No problem.”

Danny smoothed his hair back nervously and nodded, pointing just down the hall. “That’s Rogers class. Um, you know if you end up writing that paper I’d be happy to proof-read it. I always like a good supernatural story.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smirk because homework on Werewolves. He gave the other man a little mock salute with two fingers and nodded. “Will do Danny. Thanks.”

 

\-----

 

Back in the food court ten minutes later Danny sat down at the table and set his bag to the side. The rest of the Pack had fallen silent as he approached, nervous and tense on the edge of their seats as they waited for him to talk.

Danny pulled out a bagged lunch.

“Well?” Lydia asked.

Scott was quick to jump in after that. “What did he say?” Then warily, “What did _you_ say?”

Danny held up his hand calmly to stop the other and then opened his water bottle with a sharp twist of the cap. “Firstly,” he said. “You’re all paranoid idiots." They all exchanged glanced, not sure how to respond to that. "Second," Danny continued after taking a sip, "you’re all jerks for not telling me about this guy yesterday." He set the bottle down and looked at all of them accusingly. "I mean, holy crap you guys, why would you keep the new kid a secret from your best gay friend?”

There was a moment of silence and Jackson blinked, Scott rubbed his forehead and Erica grinned. “You like him?” she asked. The others could practically see her face morph into the Cheshire cats.

Danny waved his hand dismissively, ignoring Erica. “I asked him if he believed in Werewolves and he gave me an honest to god rational answer. I didn’t appreciate nerdy types in high school but smart is definitely a good look."

“You asked him _what_ ?” Allison gasped, mildly horrified while Jackson made a gagging sound next to her. She ran her hands over her face. “Oh my god, what did he _say_?” she hissed.

Danny shrugged casually. “Did I mention it was a rational conversation? He’s obviously read up on his myths and legends and thinks silver bullets are a load of bunk. He actually mentioned silver arrowheads,” he said, looking pointedly at Allison who blinked in surprise. “He even started referencing The Beast of Gévaudan. I'm telling you, if I didn't know any better I'd say he'd gotten his hands on the Argents' Bestiary.”

Kira frowned. "You mean he knew about Mountain Ash and Wolfsbane?"

"He could be a Hunter," Lydia muttered darkly, arms crossed over her chest. 

Danny rolled his eyes at her pessimistic attitude. "I Just meant he seemed to know what he was talking about. And no, he didn't mention Mountain Ash or Wolfsbane. There was no good way for me to work that into the conversation without freaking him out. I'd already asked him about Werewolves and I for one don't like totally pushing myself onto someone I've just met."

"Sounds like you wanted to," Erica teased. 

"I understand personal boundaries, Erica," Danny shot back.

“Danny,” Jackson growled. “You do realize you’re crushing on someone we think might be some kind of witch or something, right?”

Danny snorted at his friend. “If you guys thought he was really dangerous you wouldn’t have sent me after him alone.” The Pack fell silent, realizing that their friend was right. There was no way in hell the would have sent Danny, their purely human friend, to scout out someone they thought meant to cause them harm. That just furthered Lydia's claim that they really _did_ seem to be unconsciously putting trust in Stiles. "God guys, did you forget my own grandmother is a witch?” Danny went on, looking around at them. “I know a witch when I meet one and Stiles is _no_ witch. Even _I_ was able to sneak up on him. He's a little jumpy.”

“Plenty of supernatural creatures are jumpy,” Lydia argued, still trying to find fault somewhere.

“Usually not the ones who can kill you,” Danny reminded her. He paused a moment and glanced to the side, “Although….”

Lydia pounced, eager to prove that she wasn’t just being incredibly paranoid and turning into their Alpha. “What?”

Danny smirked a little and then smiled. “Well, I for one would have no problem seeing him at Pack meetings, human or not.” He held up a hand again when Jackson groaned in disgust. “Quiet Jackson. He’s smart and he seems level headed. You guys freaked out for months before telling me about Werewolves and I didn’t take it too badly. I actually think he’d be cool with it!”

“You didn’t speak to us for _two weeks_ ,” Jackson reminded him.

His friend frowned, unimpressed. “I also knew absolutely shit about Werewolves, Jackson, and you spring that, Kanimas, Banshees, Omegas, and Vampires on me in one conversation? At least my grandmother eased me into the whole ‘I can cast spells’ thing. For gods sake, you only told me because there was a sex demon on the loose targeting gay guys! Stiles at least has a good foundation of information on supernatural creatures and it's not just nerd stuff from games. He actually _reads."_  

“You’re not just saying this because you want to bone him?” Erica teased.

Danny actually flushed under his frown. “No, Erica, I’m not. I’m saying that I talked to him. He was nice, he didn’t laugh in my face when I started asking him crazy questions, and he even told me about his mom.”

Lydia hesitated a moment and tilted her head to the side. “His mom?”

Dannys frown grew a bit remorseful as he remembered the look of grief that passed over Stiles face. That certainly wasn't where he'd planned on the conversation going at all. “Yeah, but...I feel bad that I'm even telling you. Don't mention it to him." The warning was met with a few nods. Not a single one of them at the table didn’t have parent issues so the subject was a tender one. Danny sighed again, speaking quietly. "He used to come here when he was a kid but stopped when his mom died. He said both her and his dad worked in law enforcement. She might have died in the line of duty or something.” They could all feel sympathy well up in their chests and suddenly felt guilty for even asking.

Isaac slouched in his chair and even Jackson pressed his lips together. "We won't mention it," Allison said grimly. 

Danny let out a tired breath. “Listen, you guys have the super sense so it’s your decision, but I think I’d actually like to get to know Stiles better. Let him in on the Pack stuff or don't, but I don't think he's a bad guy."

Scott shot a mild glare at Lydia. "I _told_ you."

The redhead narrowed her eyes at him. "Alright. He might not be a witch but I'm not convinced that he isn't up to something."

"We should just ask Derek," Isaac muttered. 

"I don't want him in the Pack," Jackson interrupted.

"It's not your decision, is it?" Erica sassed. 

Boyd rumbled from the end of the table, looking more irritated than normal with their bickering. "Guys, just relax. We're half way through the week, we've still got those Redcaps to deal with and we know enough about Stiles to keep an eye on him. Let's just take it one day at a time."

Danny nodded to Boyd, never seeming to be shocked when the man suddenly spoke like that after a long stretch of silence. "Voice of reason. Thank you, Boyd. Do me a favor though?" He glanced around at the others. "Lay off him a little? He thinks we’re all stalkers.” 


	18. First Time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing on the neatly trimmed lawn of the pack's large estate staring numbly at the bloody Griffin that lay motionless on the ground, Miecysław wondered if perhaps it had been too soon for his mom to be back in the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mkay, sorry for the delay, but is a bunch of chapters im loading up. ! T.T busy busy. 
> 
> no beta. PLEASE correct me if you see mistakes.

**Brussels, Belgium. Mid November. 14 years ago.**

Kids have an innate ability to sense when something was wrong even when well-meaning adults thought they were too young to understand it let alone take the time to try and explain it to them. When people around them are acting strangely, kids don't remain ignorant for long, in fact, they can sometimes notice things adults pretend not to see. Child though he might be, Miecysław was far from naive.  He had always expected to be included in his mother's’ missions. He'd dreamed of traveling with his parents and doing more than just training. He'd dreamed of _helping_ them, of being a part of a team. After learning about the Hales, Miecysław's aspirations were only reinforced. His mom had screamed and cried for hours, cursing and shouting herself hoarse, calling phones that no one would answer ever again. Then she fell into an eerie silence, only moving, making small pitiful noises when he'd tried to move away from her. A heavy gloom had settled over their family and lingered still, in every glance and every hesitant touch. 

Miecysław had gotten the edited version of the story. The Hales house had been set on fire and they had been trapped inside. So many of them had died and no darling, you can't go look for them. They're gone. Ever since she’d heard about the Hales, something had shifted inside Czesława Styczyński. Her anger, her grief, her guilt; the swell of emotions had knocked something loose. Her perspective maybe? Her outlook on life? Maybe it was her values. She looked the same; the same pretty smile, the same fair skin and the same long chestnut hair, but she also looked different. The shine in her eyes was a little too dull and only when she was working, acting, _fighting_ , did they brighten almost a little too much. Her hugs were still as warm as ever- if not longer than they used to be- but her laughter was sharper, less brimming with humor and more with reluctance, as though she wasn’t sure she was doing it right. She was differant and Miecysław could see it.

Even newly presented as he was she had needed him as much as he needed her, so as soon as his mother pulled the pieces of herself back together Miecysław all but insisted with the full extent of his nine-year-old persuasive powers that he be allowed to accompany her on her next assignment. His mother, more tired, more agitated than usual and ever so reluctant to let him out of her sight, hadn’t needed to be asked twice. 

Now, after having traveled hundreds of miles in the past 24 hours, Miecysław gazed at his mother with ever-growing apprehension. This last mission had been little more than a favor to one of his father’s old friends. The Variant had busted his leg messing around with a Griffin that had impeded on his pack's territory in the southern part of Brussels and had requested some additional backup to deal with the issue. Get the Griffin to leave on its own or force it to leave the area. 

Standing on the neatly trimmed lawn of the pack's large estate, staring numbly at the bloody Griffin that lay motionless on the ground, Miecysław wondered if perhaps it had been too soon for his mom to be back in the field.

“What is that look for, _młody wilk?"_ Czesława asked as she carefully wiped her knife off on her black pants. Her clothing was rumpled and her loose braid had come undone but she was otherwise unharmed. When she'd slit the creature's throat a spray of crimson had splashed across her chin but she didn’t seem to notice.  

Miecysław sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Nothing _mama_.” Still dwelling on his own thoughts he didn't meet his mother's gaze and continued to stare at the mess of feathers and fractured bones before him.

Amused, Czesława smiled at her boy, tipping her head to the side with a raised eyebrow. “Silly.” She bent over a bit and brushed his bangs from his forehead in a motherly gesture. He could feel the warm blood on her fingertips. The woman frowned when her hand touched his skin. “Looks like you’re getting a fever.”

Miecysław _had_ been feeling a little under the weather but he didn’t like to complain now that he was actually working. “I’m okay,” he said, batting his mom's hand away lightly while his ears turned red.

“This damp air isn’t good for you,” his mother went on, standing straight again. “Grab mama’s other knife, sweetheart. Let’s go tell the others their little Griffin problem has been taken care of.”

Miecysław nodded as he walked over to the fallen beast and stuck his fingers into the bloody feathers, searching for the handle.

 

 

**Hanover, Germany. Mid November. Next Evening.**

 

Johan carded his fingers through his hair. It was still the same dark blonde from his youth but now strands of gray peppered around his temple and his five o’clock shadow made him look older instead of rugged. The last few months had been difficult to say the least and a deep seeded concern pulled down the corners of his mouth in a weary frown. His wife and son had come home on a redeye flight a few hours ago and ten seconds after they’d walked in the door the concerns that had been haunting the shadows of his mind suddenly came into the light. Czesława smiled happily at him and kissed his cheek, practically skipping off to their room to put away their things, but his son had lingered behind. The boy looked tired and quietly smiled at his dad before handing him a letter from the Variant in Brussels. Johan noticed the overlooked stains of red around the boy's fingernails but neither of them said anything. Miecysław hugged his dad, gave a small cough and went up to his room.

By the time Johan finished the letter, stewed over it a little and considered making some phone calls, Czesława had come back downstairs and set her gun case on the kitchen table. He watched her pull out her cleaning tools as she did almost every night, looking cheerful and content. Essentially the exact opposite of how he felt.

Sensing her husband looking at her, Czesława glanced up from oiling her Ruger. “Something wrong?” She asked.

Johan sighed and pulled out one of the chairs, sitting on the other side of the table. At least he knew how to broach the subject now. “I feel like I need to be asking _you_ that.”

Czesława’s hands paused their movements. They stared at eachother before she looked back at her gun and her hands started moving again. "You, sir, are being really vague tonight.”

“Stop.” The man let out a frustrated breath and reached across the table, putting a hand on his wife's.  “Stop, just….” he maneuvered the weapon flat against the wood, pinned under both their palms. “I think we should talk about your last assignment.”

Czesława arched a brow in surprise. “What about it? I thought it went well.” She looked to the side and saw the crumpled letter on the counter. “Did Marshal say something?”

Uncomfortable, Johan looked off to the side, scratching the back of his neck. “He mentioned a few things. He's filing his report with Noir as well.”

That had the woman frowning, lips pursing a pout. “Gen and I got the job done so what was his complaint?”

Johan resisted the urge to flinch at his wife using the nickname her best friend had called their son by. “Honey, Marshal told me everything. That Griffin didn’t need to die. Why didn’t you just chase it off like he’d been trying to do?”

Czesława blinked and let out an uncertain laugh, leaning away from her husband. “Honey, that Griffin had already crippled a Variant and was encroaching on the packs land. It was living on their property by the time we got there!” She explained. “Negotiations failed. You know how territorial Griffins are and it would have started to go after the younger wolves if I hadn’t taken care of it.”

“Your assignment was to assist Marshal,” Johan went on, trying to ignore the glimmer of professional pride in the woman's eyes. “He did not want that creature dead. You deciding that it was the only course of action was-“

Czesława pulled her hand out from under her husbands and scowled. “I made a tactical decision, Zluta,” she announced in a low tone. It shifted the conversation between them to commander and soldier rather than husband and wife. “I made the right decision to protect the pack . Honestly, I can’t even believe we’re having this discussion right now. You never questioned my judgment before.”

Johan let out a huff and scrubbed his hand over his stubble. “I'm not trying to question your judgment, Czes, but this was Miecysław’s first official assignment and you  didn’t even follow protocol-,”

“I’m trying to teach our son how to handle himself out in the _real_ world,” Czesława interrupted with a fraying temper. “I’m trying to prepare him for the tough decisions he’s going to have to make, and you’re trying to tell me I’m not doing my job?”

Johan pulled away in shock, sitting back in his chair. “Do you hear yourself? Your assignment was to assist another Variant.You were to follow his lead because it concerned _his_ charges. That’s _basic,_ hon.”

Her chair scratched the floor as Czesława stood quickly, the side of her face flushing a deep red as two lines from nose to temple blushed onto her pale skin. her eyes seemed to light up with inner fire and her body was tense like a tightly wound coil. “That idiot was going to get them _killed!"_

Johan’s eyes flew open in astonishment, the woman's reaction sending a rush of indignation through him. He felt his own mark sting the side of his face in response. “ _Mauve-!”_ But both of them fell silent instantly when a small cough sounded from another room. The color fled from Czesława’s face and her warm eyes widened in sudden fear and realization as she brought a hand up to her mouth. Her anger faltered and suddenly, finally, Johan could see his wife again. “Sit,” he said gently, motioning to the askew chair.

Jaw clenched tight, Czesława slowly slid back into her chair, glancing down the hallway at the closed door to where their son was sleeping.

Now that she was calm and Johan knew he had her attention, he went on. “Czesława, believe me when I say you are going down a path that I _know_ you do not want Miecysław to follow.”

A shaking inhale was all the woman could manage as she nodded. She cleared her throat softly after a moment and her voice came out as strong as she could manage in her shaken state. “Zluta….Johan, I can still do this.”

Johan rubbed his calloused hand over his face again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “It’s not just me with reservations, Czesława. The other Base leaders have been concerned as well. We all know the affects something like this can have on a Variant.” He noticed his wife tense and close off, her shoulders hunching as her fingers clenched into fists. " _You_ know the effects,” he went on. “I told them you should be in the field, that it would help you process things, working and training Miecysław, but I also promised to step in if I thought it was too much.” The stern look in his eyes faded as he took in the sight of his pale wife, the love of his life whom was so obviously hurting and trying not to show it. He couldn’t stand to see that look on someone he loved. “ _Drahoušek,_ please think before you take another assignment. If not about yourself then about your son. A non-lethal mission shouldn’t send him home with blood on his hands.”

Czesława took a shaky breath and straightened her spine so she could meet her husband's eyes. “I…I know what I’m doing. I promised myself that I would train our boy and teach him everything he needs to know. Please, I need you to trust me on this.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> polish  
> młody wilk- little wolf
> 
> Czech  
> Drahoušek –darling


	19. I promise I'm fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like back in the plane, flying over the Atlantic with his father sitting by his side, Stiles felt his throat close up against memories that came unbidden. Damnit damnit damnit. No. He wasn't going down that road again. He wasn't going to have his heart to heart now of all times. He was just going to continue to….to lie to his dad. His Leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the previous and next chapter or two will be a little time skippy. Need to pile it all on at once.  
> noooooo beta.

**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present time.**

 

Stiles didn’t have many viable options -not many if he wanted to keep his anonymity and not have to kill anyone that is. That  was really all he wanted out of life really: to walk around like a normal guy, unarmed, not looking over his shoulder at every noise, not having to wonder if that person who was looking at him a little longer than normal was someone he’d have at gunpoint sometime in the future or vise versa. Was that so much to ask? This fantasy world he had his dad were trying to live in could be a reality, right? No one in Beacon Hills suspected anything off about the Stilinski men. Stiles was just a student and John was the new Sheriff. Stiles did homework and John did paperwork. Even the Variants understood that they’d essentially cut ties with their old lives -apart from Stiles video chatting people halfway across the world but that didn't count he was just being a good visual penpal and no one could tell him any different.

Oh, who was he kidding. He just had to look at his phone and see all the pseudonym contact names to realize that he had barely cut any ties.

But suppose he _had_ cut those ties. Really threw himself into this whole act his dad had thought up. He was already halfway there, Stiles reasoned with himself. He didn't _have_ to help this pack, or keep an eye on the Hunters, or look in on that creepy tree in the woods. He wasn't obligated to do anything here because it wasn't official. There was no bond, no declaration made, and no danger he had to circumvent. He could literally drift off into the background and no one would be the wiser. They'd just be left wondering who that weird guy in the mask was that knew to tempt Faires with honey. There were weirder things to wonder about.  

All this was what Stiles had to keep telling himself as he sat in his jeep with the windows rolled up and the radio turned down so low it could barely be heard over the sound of the idling engine. A breath rushed past his lips, their tightness causing a low, dejected whistle to emerge and his fingertips tapped out a rapid rhythm on the steering wheel, buzzing with a nervous, frustrated build up of energy. His amber eyes stared at the clock on the dashboard and another minute ticked by in bright green block numbers.

In all, Stiles had really only had two options really, but he’d done with less so he really shouldn't be this morose about it. Option one -and probably the sanest- was to call his dad and let him know how fucked they were. How fucked the Werewolves were. How fucked everyone was really. That would essentially mean blowing his dad's plans up right in his face. Never a good thing. Option two- something that could very well get him into heaps of trouble with people a  lot scarier than a ragtag bunch of Werewolves and Go Fish playing Hunters- was to continue with his undercover eavesdropping and random rescue missions in the woods.

Both options kind of sucked.

Stiles was already well beyond ignoring the situation that much was for sure. Scott worried him something fierce but that was nothing compared with the others. The others? Well….the others were just too much to think about right now. He really needed to look at his dad's files.

Stiles yanked the keys out of the ignition with a new breath of determination and pushed open the door. Files.That was the plan. Peruse the files and get some informational ammunition so there were no more surprises. God he was tired of surprises.

Stiles grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and practically ran into the house. He barely paused to slam the door shut behind him. Not bothering to remove his boots he skidded into the kitchen like someone had been chasing him and threw himself at a chair to stare at the folder his father had left on the table. The folder containing all of the cumulative information the Variants had on the supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills since there had _been_ supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills. Cumulative information that could  _barely_ fill up a single manilla file folder apparently. Stiles blinked at the scant paperwork for a moment and then hesitantly flipped it open with one finger and a pained expression.

Stiles carefully moved aside what had to be one of only 20 or so pages and pictures with memos on the back. “This is sad.”

Bare bones information was putting it nicely. Names, ages, short bios, addresses, a list of felonies if any. Some of them didn't even come with a good photo for reference. Holy hell, Jackson wasn't even in there and that couldn't be right because Stiles had _heard_ him hiss. They were outdated too. Some of these files were over 20 years old and if that wasn't just a pile of shit on a stick, there was nothing about Scott, Erica, Boyd, or Isaac there either. There was a little blurb his mom had attached to a picture of the Nemeton about a very old Kitsune that had been here during the World War, but other than that, nothing. “God damn guys, what the hell have we been doing?” Stiles admonished quietly. Had all Variant contact just been cut with Beacon Hills after his mom passed? That thought in itself was disturbing; that his mother had put nearly half her life into this town and now no one could be bothered to keep an eye on it.

Stiles scanned over some of the pages with a discerning eye for anything that jumped out. An old photograph of a severe-looking older man, a stern woman, and two teenagers finally caught his attention. _Argent_ the file read. Stiles nail scraped some of the ink off the photo near the blond girls smirking face. Katherine Argent. Funny that the psycho ones never _looked_ psycho. There was some basic information about where the family had lived, when they moved in, known contacts outside of the country, and where the kids went to school. A newer file mentioned that Christopher, Katherine's brother, had moved back to Beacon Hills with his family for a little while and then moved away again, apparently back to England. There was no photograph of his family and no updated intelligence. Stiles pushed the paper aside with a shake of his head. He already had a Hunter family to worry about.

He found some older files about a Banshee that had passed away a little while after his mother had started associating with the Hales, and some random notes about supernatural occurrence like witches, or fairies, or other Werewolf packs milling about. All these things had been handled by Talia and therefore were simple open and closed cases; a _they were here, and then they left,_  type of thing. The more recent notes were typed, not in his mother's hand, meaning his father had sent out for some information from neighboring towns. These were reports of vicious animal attacks a few years back, clippings from local papers about murders, kidnappings, and arsons. Stiles sighed, knowing then that if he wanted any current information he was going to have to do some illegal breaking and entering into the county police records. It was the only way he was going to be able to piece together this mess. He’d look up the victims of the attacks, he’d look at their families, and he’d look at their connections. If there was one thing Stiles was good at it was finding the connections.

Stiles fingertips stilled over a glossy old polaroid and he felt his chest constrict. It was another family photo, but unlike the Argents' these people looked happy. The eye flare obscured some of the faces and Stiles memory was left to fill in the blanks. Eye colors, the way they smiled, what color their hair was.Bold black letters stared back at him from the worn typewriter paper. _Hale Pack_.

On the back of the photograph in black marker was loopy, neat handwriting.

_Talia, Alpha Werewolf._

_Husband, David, Human._

_Daughter, Laura, Beta Werewolf._

_Son, Derek, Beta Werewolf._

_Daughter, Cora, Beta Werewolf._  

Moving his hand a few inches, another picture slid into view: a heavily pregnant woman with her husband and young son. Stiles turned it over and saw his mother's familiar scrawl, the same that had made notes on all the photographs.

_Peter, Beta Werewolf, Talia’s second._

_Wife, Emily, Human._

_Son, Alexander, Human._

_Unborn daughter, name undecided, species unknown._

A sharp intake of breath snapped Stiles out of his thoughts and he found himself blinking hard a few times, the muscles in his neck tense and stiff like he’d been leaning over too long. He ran his hand over his mouth, wiping away any words he felt he needed to say. What _could_ one say when confronted with ghosts from their past?

Just as soon as Stiles slumped back in his chair the front door opened and closed, jerking him out of his melancholy. “Stiles?” His father's voice called out. “You home?”

Stiles shot up out of the chair and shoved the papers back into the folder quickly. “Yeah!” He called back, clearing his throat while he did so. “Yeah, I’m in the kitchen!” He heard his dad's footsteps coming down the hallway and had just gathered the folder and his bag in his arms when the older man walked in.

The Sheriff looked at his son questioningly and then glanced at the table where the file had been. Then at his son again. The smiled dropped off his face. “You alright?” He asked.

Stiles felt guilt stir in his gut.  “Fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly, knowing there was no way his dad was buying this particular brand of bull. “Just going upstairs. Going to look over these files and do homework and all that crap.”

“Stiles,” hIs father said more firmly. He crossed his arms over his chest and straightened his stance to military stature. “Are you alright?”

The younger man clenched his jaw at the subtle show of authority, amber eyes a little too bright. “Yeah,” he nodded, voice a little off. “Just...I wasn't expecting the photos,” he admitted. The Sheriff nodded and waited for his son to continue but Stiles just shook his head. “I'm fine,” he repeated, voice evening out with practiced control. “I was actually kind of surprised at how little information there was. It's a little outdated. Wasn't there any more recent intel?”

John allowed his boy to deflect and ran his hand through his hair before he shrugged off his jacket and removed his sidearm, placing it on the table. “I told you there wasn't much to dig up. A Variant hasn’t been in this area since your mother so there have been no first-hand updates since then. I just browsed local new for anything odd.”    

Stiles eyes narrowed skeptically. “We just let it go for the past decade?” He asked.

John frowned and gave his son a cautionary frown. “There was no reason to use our resources on Beacon Hills if a Variant wasn't uninvolved.”

Stiles felt his jaw tighten and his shoulders straightened automatically. He could see the logic of his dad's words, really he could, but damnit why did he have to be such a Base Leader about these things? “It just seems risky, all things considered," Stiles settled on, trying to go for diplomacy. 

“It’s not for us to interfere where we are not needed,” John reminded him sternly. “That’s one of our first rules.” Stiles sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue. “Why are you so concerned with this?” His father went on, eyeing his son skeptically. “Does this have something to do with the Non-voters you met at school?”

Stiles licked his lips, fingers tapping against his thigh. “I told you I wanted to check up on them.”

John's eyes narrowed. “Recon?” A hint of frustration sparked in his eye. “Stiles, I thought we agreed that we would-”

 _“Ja vim!”_ Stiles jaw snapped shut after the outburst and he forced himself to take a breath. “I know,” he said more slowly. “I know we agreed to quit, I’m just…killing time.”

HIs father didn’t quite look like he bought _that_ bit of bull either and his eyes narrowed further. It was so difficult when your own dad could pull rank on you with just a look. “We both agreed to give this a fighting chance,” he said slowly. “We didn't move halfway across the world just to pick our old lives back up in a new town.” The older man shook his head sharply when Stiles opened his mouth to speak. “You’re a professional, I understand that, and if you’re telling me you're doing what you have to I will understand, but Stiles,” The sternness in the man's eyes softened slightly as he looked at his boy, too old for his years. “You can not let this life be the only thing you have. That’s why we left. I want you to...I want you to find something to keep you grounded, or you’re going to burn out.”

Like back in the plane, flying over the Atlantic with his father sitting by his side, Stiles felt his throat close up against memories that came unbidden. Damnit damnit damnit. No. He wasn't going down that road again. He wasn't going to have htis heart to heart now of all times. He was just going to continue to…to lie to his dad. His Leader.

Shit.

All his options sucked.

 

* * *

 

 

**Craiova, Romania. End of November. 14 years ago.**

 

“ _Młody wilk,_ we’ll just keep this a secret from dad, okay?”

Miecysław didn’t make any indication he heard his mother as he taped a section of gauze over a cut on her shoulder. He had a bandage secured over his temple but the blood was still smeared down half his face, a burning reminder of a call that was a little too close. A Vampire lay dead in the alley not 20 feet behind them, rain washing his blood over the pavement.

“Gen?” his mother turned a bit, looking over her shoulder. Her expression was carefree, almost cold in a way, but then she noticed the sullen expression on his face and her eyes softened. Czesława shifted on her knees to face the child, putting her hands on his shoulders lightly and giving him an apologetic smile. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” she said, guilt lacing her words. “I should have been paying more attention. I didn’t think he'd get up again.” She brushed her fingertips along the boy's cheek sadly. “Does it hurt?”

Miecysław stuffed the excess tape and gauze into his bag and shook his head, looking at the ground. “Why do we have to lie to dad?” It was the first words he’d spoken in the last hour which was almost a record for him. Granted, the last hour had been filled with running and sharp objects.

His mother’s fingers tightened around his arms for a moment and then she sighed, her entire body slumping with the exhale. “…You’re right, honey. We shouldn’t keep secrets from your dad. I just didn’t want him to worry, okay? You know he’s got a lot on his plate right now. If we told him we got a little scraped up he’d be even more worried.”

Miecysław rubbed his bloody palms on his pants. He felt unsettled; like he shouldn’t have to be the one to say these things. “ _Tatínek_ says he wants to hear about the missions. He’s a Base Leader so he should know what happened.” He was startled by the flash of guilt that flickered over his mother's face and he swallowed quickly, trying to backtrack. “It’s…It’s not like we were _really_ hurt. My head feels okay and I got that claw out of your shoulder.” He motioned to the broken piece of cartilage that lay on the ground, a memento one of the Vampires left. “I just… I just. Don't get it.” He admitted in a small voice. “They were running away, mom. Did we have to kill them?”

His mother glanced down the alley at the cooling corpse and her fingers tightened on her son’s shoulders again. “They were running _now_ Miecysław, but they would have been back. Vampires are single mided and do not let their prey go. The Pack here asked for help dealing with them and we helped. They are safe now.” She ducked down a little and took the boy's chin gently in her hand, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. “Nothing we did tonight was wrong. You did really good,  _młody wilk._ I’m so, so proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Czech  
> Ja vim!- I know!  
> Tatínek - dad, papa
> 
> Polish  
> Młody wilk - little wolf


	20. Just a job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We're fine!” Miecysław called back. The woman gave them a little wave and popped back inside so he returned his attention to the couple and found them staring at him with worry and trepidation. “It’s fine,” he repeated. “I just got scratched earlier.” He should invest in some arm guards, he thought, making a mental note to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> illustrating how messed up things got with Stiles family. Lots of jet lag. T.T poor baby.
> 
> I would like to add a new tag for Child Neglect

 

* * *

 

 

**Vilnius, Lithuania. Early December. 13 years ago**

 

The pack in Lithuania has been calling him _sūnus_ in lieu of him not having an official code name yet.  He could have branched out, started looking around for a Pack to call his own, his own to protect, but he stayed with Mauve. He went on missions with her when they got restless; when his dad was too busy being a Base Leader to keep them together, when his mom refused to travel with anyone else, whenever she heard of a Werewolf pack that might be in a little over their heads. He stayed by her side because she was his mom, even when she was elbow deep in blood.

 

 

**Tver, Russia. February. 12 years ago.**

 

_“Make sure to call me tonight, alright dítě?”_

“Okay _tatínek,_ I will.”

 _“_ _Miluji tě, kiddo. Can you put your mom on the phone?”_

This was an old, cold war era safehouse they were in now, the walls peeling and cracked, but at least there were blankets on the bed this time. From his chair in the hallway, Miecysław looked down to the end to a door that was slightly ajar. Warm light spilled out from the room where his mother and an older man engaged in a heated argument. The boys Russian wasn’t quite fluent yet but he recognized some words that were emphasized by things banging around. Somewhere in the room a glass fell to the floor a shattered.

“She’s talking with someone right now,” Miecysław replied, the phone pressed flush to his ear. 

Tver was their third city  in the last two months. Their 4th pack. Deepali, Base Leader Kesri, had tried to talk the two of them into taking a few weeks off, maybe join her in Raipur for some R and R, but Czesława was a woman with a fire under her. She wouldn't stop; not while there was a rogue group of Hunters terrorizing a poor family of Betas and their human child.

He could hear the disappointment in his father's voice though the man tried to mask it. _“Alright son. You know how to get a hold of me if you need anything,_ ” he said, knowing that his son had multiple numbers and addresses for all of the Base Leaders memorized. " _I'm off to Spain in two days but you two shouldn't be there much longer."_

"Okay, dad," Miecysław replied, picking at a loose thread on his pants.

 _"It's just a few more days bud. I'll see you soon._ "  

 

 

**Nanortalik, Greenland. March. 12 years ago.**

 

The three of them spent four days together in Spain, checking out a new training facility. They saw the beach as they drove past. It was beautiful. A few days later, mother and son caught a flight out of the country.

“Gen, can you help me clean out this cut? Grab that needle over there. That's my good boy.”

 

It was just one more fight.

 

 

 

**Glaslow, Scotland. April. 12 years ago.**

 

“Oh, sweetheart, don't cry, it's not that bad. I can reset your shoulder in a jiff.”

 

One more scar.

 

 

**Utrecht, Netherlands. June. 12 years ago.**

 

“ _No_ , Gen, I don't want that Omega leaving this town. We take care of her tonight. Gear up.”

 

One more enemy.

 

 

 

**Heidal, Norway. August. 12 years ago.**

 

 

“Rød!” Adam called out, tone anxious. “Mauve, are you two okay?’ Adam Berg was a Beta Werewolf who'd had the misfortune of falling in love with a Vampire. His Pack had welcomed the woman into their lives but her Nest had been a little less than pleased about the union. They had responded by kidnapping Adam and Eiras 4-year-old daughter. Miecysław and Mauve had tracked the Nest to an old cabin deep in the woods and after a grueling fight with five of Eira’s more irate family members, they’d been able to return the tired, scared little girl back to her parents. 

Miecysław, 11 years old now and far too worldly for any child to be, waved his good hand at the worried Beta in a gesture far too nonchalant for his particular situation. “We’re okay,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his mother who was busy dragging a body back into the cabin.

Eiras seemed to appear out of nowhere and picked up her little girl who was fast asleep. She looked at the cabin with haunted eyes. “I can’t believe they would do this,” she whispered, and then glanced down at the child standing before her. “I can't -Oh, gods, Adam, look at his _arm_!” Her hand flew up to her mouth as she stared down at the young Variant.

Adam dropped to his knees in front of Miecysław, hands hovering over the boy as he panicked. “Oh, _Fy fæn!_ _Rød_ , don't worry, we can get you bandaged up, okay? Oh, shit, _shit_ , this looks really bad, Eiras, call my brother and have him get a med kit ready. Rød, can you move your arm at all? Is anything broken?”

Miecysław looked down at his right arm which hung at his side like a limp noodle. His entire sleeve was stained red, sopping and heavy with blood. He blinked in mild surprise at the sight. He’d realized he’d gotten cut half way through the fight but he hadn't realized how deep it was. At least it matched his sweatshirt -the very same sweatshirt that had earned him his nickname. _Rød_ was a little ironic and slightly obvious, as he pointed out when Adam used it the first time, but he liked the sound of it anyway. “It's alright, I can patch myself up,” he said when Eiras started to pull out her phone. The two adults looked at him like he was crazy and Miecysław knew this wasn't the time to tell him that he’d been an impromptu medic and surgeon for himself and his parents on more than one occasion.

Behind them in the cabin where she’d managed to drag the bodies -unconscious or a little more so- Mauve poked her head out the door. She was busy tying her hair up in a ponytail and out of the way. Some of the strands were snarled together, matted with blood and other viscera. “Something wrong?” she called out.

“We're fine!” Miecysław called back. The woman gave them a little wave and popped back inside so he returned his attention to the couple and found them staring at him with worry and trepidation. “It’s fine,” he repeated. “I just got scratched earlier.” He should invest in some arm guards, he thought, making a mental note to himself.

Adam and Eira exchanged looks and the anxious mother held her child a little tighter. They didn't know how to deal with a kid that didn't have the soul of one. Coming from a Vampire, that was saying something, but Miecysław wasn't surprised. He’d heard it before and he’d seen it before. In fact, he’d seen it in his father's eyes a few times, when the man thought he was hiding it. Johan underestimated how much his boy saw.

Hoping to avoid any more insistence that he needed medical attention, Miecysław changed the topic. “We can clean up here. You guys should get Ava back home. We’ll have another Variant in the area within a day or two to make sure things settle.”

“ _Młody wilk!”_ his mom called out from within the cabin before running out, phone in hand. She looked excited and pumped up, a grin on her face. “Good news kiddo! There’s a Pack in Canada that’s requested our help!” Adam opened his mouth to interject but Czesława pushed on. “Pack your bags we fly out in the morning!”

 

 

Just another job.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> czech  
> dítě -Kid  
> tatínek- dad, papa  
> Miluji tě-i love you
> 
> Polish  
> nie martw si – don’t worry
> 
> Norwegian  
> Fy fæn!-oh fuck! (?)


	21. Twice the Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott had mentioned that they had ‘something’ to take care of in the Preserve tonight and Bloodthirsty plus Goblin in the same sentence spelled double trouble and a serious headache for a Variant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada, chapter!   
> no Beta. super sorry if it seems rushed, but I just wanted to get it out there while I had some free time. FMbusyL >.<
> 
> Also: DEREK! <3

**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present time. The Loft**

 

Scott shifted in his seat for the 10th time in less than 5 minutes, hands patting out a nervous rhythm on his thighs. Derek, who had been looking over a map of the Preserve with Allison and Boyd,  finally let out a defeated sigh and looked up. Apparently making their plan of attack for tonight was just not on Scott's list of priorities (the top of the list being to eat have the food in the loft as soon as they got there). “Scott. What.”

The young man almost didn't wait for Derek to finish before he launched in. “Okay, so, remember how you’re always saying that with all the creepy murderous weird stuff that goes on in Beacon Hills we should keep an eye out for people who might be able to help out? You know, good allies and stuff?”

Derek was about to nod, say there was no such thing as too many allies and maybe give Scott time to take a breath to keep from passing out, when Jackson held up a hand and glared at the True Alpha. “No. I know what you’re going to say and  _ no _ . Just, no.”

Scot gave an affronted little twitch, frowning. “Why not?”

When the rest of the Pack either sighed or rolled their eyes, Derek asked; “What are you talking about?” 

“I think I’m with Jackson on this one,” said Boyd. Erica gave him a look of warning and he backtracked begrudgingly. “I just think it’s too soon to decide anything, that's all.”

“Decide on what?” Derek tried again.

“Did you even  _ see _ how he ran out of the cafeteria?” Jackson asked. “Danny was right, we scare the shit out of him.”

“And who’s fault was that?’ Lydia interrupted. “It’ll be a miracle if he can even make eye contact with us again after your little  _ episode _ ,” She hissed out the last word with narrowed eyes.

“What _ happened _ ?” Derek demanded.

“Danny said he thought we were stalkers, not scary,” Scott corrected. 

“So much better,” muttered Isaac.

“Point is,” Jackson interrupted, “That he thinks we’re freaks and if he doesn’t, he’s got more issues than I’m willing to deal with.”

Erica’s eyes narrowed. “We _ all  _ have issues, Jackson.”

“Exactly!” Jackson snapped back. “I’m not about to let a total stranger know about the fact that I turn into a fuzzy monster every full moon, okay!”

“Didn’t seem to have a problem with it when you were hissing at the lunch table today,” Erica glared. 

Derek blinked, brows coming together. “You  _ hissed _ ?”

“ _ You’r _ e one to talk,” Jackson snarled back at Erica. “You going into heat or something she-wolf?” Boyd rumbled at Ericas side as she flicked the other man off with both fingers.

“Can we just get back to the planning?” Lydia asked tiredly, rubbing her temples.

The redhead, too, was ignored. “Okay, so our approach was a little...strong, but we can work on it!” Scott insisted, leaning forward. “I’m not saying Derek should  _ bite _ him or anything, but I think he’d be a good guy to have on the team.” 

Derek threw up his hands and asked anyone; “Who am I biting?” 

“Hold on a second, Scott,” Allison held up her hands in a staying gesture when he gave her a betrayed look. “No one is saying we can’t be friends with him, but I do sort of get where Jackson is coming from.” Even Jackson looked a little surprised to hear the Huntress agree with him and they all waited for her to go on. “He’s still getting used to living here and this isn't really something you just spring on someone.” 

“ _ Hey _ ,” Derek cut in loudly, voice firm enough that he finally got some attention. It helped that he finally got pissed enough to flash his eyes. “You realize I have the final say in all this right? Alpha, remember?” His Betas looked at the ground sheepishly. “What’s his name?”

“Nope,” Erica replied instantly, lips pulling into a stubborn pout. “We can’t have you being all intimidating and scaring him off. “

Derek sighed and shook his head, throwing up his hands because this night had just gone off the rails in his opinion. From the far corner of the room, having been so quiet it was like he wasn't even there, Peter cleared his throat and Derek almost twitched. A few of the others did. 

“As absolutely  _ fascinating _ as this whole conversation has been,” The eldest Werewolf drawled without even glancing up from his book, “perhaps it would be better to discuss something important? Say, I don't know, the Redcaps we’re going to be dealing with tonight?” He turned a page. “Or how about those tourists that were attacked by ‘freakish birds' and went straight to the police before we had a chance to find out where their assailants went? Or  _ maybe _ -and this one is my personal favorite- the man with the Halloween mask who saved Scott from his own stupidity the other day?” 

“It  _ wasn't  _ a Halloween mask,” Scott argued even as Lydia’s eyes narrowed at Peter. 

“Do you have to sound so patronizing  _ every _ time you open your mouth?” She asked. There was a little bite to her words, as there always was whenever Peter said anything remotely reasonable.

With a dramatic, dismissive flourish of his hand, Peter said, “All of those seem like far more productive and pressing topics and  _ any _ of them are more interesting than your new school chum, that’s all. ”

“Thanks, Peter,” Derek growled, but he was actually glad for the interruption because Peter was right. They didn't have time to waste discussing...whatever it was his Betas were going on about. Derek certainly didn't want to think of adding another kid to his pack. No thank you, he had enough people to babysit. Furthermore, as curious as he’d been about the story Erica, Isaac, and Scott had told him about the mysterious Fairy Whisperer, they were wasting moonlight and those woods were not going to patrol themselves. “We need to deal with the Redcaps _first_. They are the most immediate threat. I picked up their scent in the northern part of the Preserve this afternoon and at another spot about a half a mile outside of town. I don't want them getting  _ any  _ closer.” God knows the local authorities were already paranoid about what was going on in the woods anyway and Derek had heard that the county had hired a new Sheriff to boot. He hoped the new guy was willing to accept ‘animal attack’ as they norm.

Erica gave him a thumbs up and Derek wasn't sure if she was being patronizing or supportive. Her face gave nothing but a sultry smirk away so Derek turned his attention to the Banshee. The others had come over after their classes let out but Lydia had gone home to change into something a little more nature resilient that her normal floral skirts. Plus she had to pick up some supplies.  “Lydia, did you bring the rope we need?”

The young woman nodded to a duffle bag by the door which gave off a distinctly sharp odor. “It took me forever to get a pure enough extract to make the oil for it, but it's all in there.”

From her seat next to Scott, Kira glanced at Allison. Her families Bestiary had said that the leaves or berries of the holly tree could be used against Redcaps and it seemed only natural to coat anything they could with the stuff. They’d left it up to Lydia to create an easily spreadable version of the plant and had soaked a hundred feet of rope in its oil and coated Allison’s weapons in it. The smell was obvious to all of them with enhanced senses of smell. “We’re sure this will work?” Kira asked. The Bestiary had been helpful over the years but it was an old, sort of extremely outdated book. Neither Allison nor her father had done much note taking since the head of the family died. 

The Huntress gave a one shouldered shrug. “Redcaps are from the Goblin family. Goblins are weakened when Holly touches their skin. It won’t kill them but it should slow them down.“ 

Scott looked at Derek, eyes full of skepticism. “We  _ are  _ just trying to  _ catch  _ them, right?”

Allison’s lip pulled up sympathetically but it was Derek who answered. “We drive them out, or kill them."

Scott chewed on his bottom lip, obviously not happy with that answer. “If we  _ do _ drive them out,” Scott said slowly, trying to think, “What’s to say they won't move somewhere else and start hurting other people.”

Derek let out a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He’d never been able to cure Scott of the  _ save everyone and everything _ mantra he probably sang himself to sleep with each night. There were always moralistic questions from him no matter what they did. “Our territory is the one we worry about. Once they’re out, they aren't our problem.”

Another page turned in the corner of the room and even  _ that _ managed to sound condescending. “So diplomatic,” Peter smirked. 

Derek's eyes flashed before he stood up from his chair and pointed at the map in front of him. “Jackson, Erica, and Isaac, you guys take this section closer to town. Allison, Lydia and Kira, you three stick together and stay close to them. Scott and Boyd, you two start at this part of the stream where I picked up their trail earlier today and follow it towards the others. Heard the Redcaps downstream. I’m going to start in the northern side and pick up any stragglers. If you need help, howl.” He looked up at all of them, half glaring. “Any questions?”

Erica raised her hand.  “Yeah. What about Peter?”

The Alpha resisted the urge to sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Peter was the most experienced, smartest, most capable Werewolf of them all. He was also a self serving, vindictive ass and Derek liked to leave him at home. “Do you want him in  _ your  _ group?”

The blonde looked over her shoulder and eyed Peter who turned another page of his book. “...No. No, I do not.”

 

 

**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present time, a little earlier in the Evening.**

Going with option ‘this sucks less kind of,” Stiles pulled out the heavy trunk from the back of his closet. He knew his dad wouldn't bother him for the rest of the night, allowing him some traditional teen angst time or otherwise trusting his judgement -a horrible decision either way really. It didn't really matter at this point. Files and photos stored in his all but empty desk drawer, all that mattered now was that Stiles had decided to go out again and pay a visit to his favorite card playing bounty hunters. 

He geared up in much the same way as he had the night before and even grabbed his mask again, stowing it and a few odds and ends in a bag. Not his school bag; that would be suicidal and completely counterintuitive to his goals because the smell of blood was really hard to get out of fabric should anything happen. He stowed a knife in his left boot and a push blade in his right. A longer fixed blade was strapped to his thigh and before he put on his gloves he slid on a set of metal plated arm guards that reached a good six inches above his elbow. They wouldn't do much good if someone decided to stab him in the shoulder or anything but he could deflect an attack with his forearm or elbow and risk only bruising. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen tonight but dammit he’d be ready for it. 

 Making sure the window was closed only partially behind him Stiles leapt from the ledge of the roof to the waiting tree branch, compensating for the extra weight of the bag by not so much  _ landing  _ on the branch but skipping along it and then hopping off, catching it with his hands and letting go quickly enough that it barely had time to rustle the leaves but enough to keep him from dropping straight to the ground.

Keeping an eye on the house he walked over to the Jeep in the driveway, standing by the door and waiting.  Eventually, the white trail of steam coming out of the vent in the house let Stiles know his dad was in the shower. He climbed inside the vehicle, turning on the ignition -for stealthy that thing was not- knowing the sound of the shower would muffle the noise. 

The drive out of town wasn't as nerve-wracking as the night before, at least not for the same reasons. Maybe because this time he has some sort of plan? If it was something to worry about he’d tell his dad.  The Base Leader would tell him firmly and irrefutably to  _ stay out of it _ , but at least neither of them would be in the dark about something happening in their new town. That was what counted right? Knowledge? Being prepared? Maybe he’d glance at the Preserve on the way back and make sure Scott or one of the other Wolves had gotten themselves stuck in another fairy trap. 

Stiles shook his head with a fierce and sudden jerk and gripped the wheel tighter. “No. be  _ rational, _ idiot. You don't want them to see you. Yes, they’re dumb and inexperienced. So _, s_ _ o _ inexperienced, but that’s just  _ asking _ for trouble.” 

_ Kind of like you’re doing now? _ His rational brain reminded him. 

He parked in the same abandoned gas station and made the short trek to the motel, sticking to the shadows and quiet. The night was warm and a dull light shone out from the open window above. It was a perfect night for sneaking around and doing nefarious things. Not that Stiles was planning on doing anything nefarious. Eavesdropping wasn't necessarily  _ nefarious. _ Planning murder was nefarious.  Stiles hesitated at the foot of the tree, glancing down at himself and all his gear, his boots, tracked with the dirt from so many different countries, his padding, in good condition but with little dents and dings from  _ real _ nefarious going ons. He ran his gloved hand over his mouth with a sigh and then pulled up the fitted collar of his shirt that doubled as a partial face mask. He was already here. No sense in wasting the gas. 

Stiles found the familiar footholds in the tree by the side of the building and climbed, all the while telling himself that maybe there would be nothing new to learn. Maybe they’d just be playing canasta or something tonight. 

He sat still for 60 seconds, senses reaching out in all directions as he waited for the slightest indication of the situation inside.  He didn't hear a television or any movement, but he saw a slight fluctuation in the lighting indicating that someone was moving around.  He pulled a small mirror from his pocket and held it out to his side. The mirror was angled in such a way that he caught a glimpse of them sitting around a table in the center of the room. The black metal and chrome of polished guns glinted back at him and he caught sight of some paperwork that looked like pieced together maps. Filing the scene away in his mind he quickly pocketed the mirror and perched himself farther up on the branch, closer to the window so he could hear the quiet exchange. 

“-so friggin _ bored, _ Nessa.” Marco, Stiles remembered, placing the voice of the sore loser.  “I hate sitting around this dank freaking motel all day,” Marco went on with an irritable huff. “Why can’t we just go kill them already?”

“Because we need more people, idiot,” another man replied icily as though it was not his first time saying this. His voice was rough; like he smoked a pack a day or swallowed sandpaper for fun. “Werewolves aren't the only things in those woods.”

_ Damn friggin right _ , Stiles thought ruefully. 

“So why don't we just kill everything we come across? It's not like we’re short on ammo or anything,” Marco went on, oblivious to how stupid and juvenile he was starting to sound -a fact which wasn't lost on those listening to him. 

Vanessa’s glare almost had a sound. “Bloodthirsty Fae and lesser Goblin ilk don’t have a bounty on them, Marco. I'm not paid to deal with the trash.”

Stiles blinked, fingertips rubbing together with nervous energy. He was impressed that the Alvares Matriarch had bothered to classify creatures other than ‘Werewolf’ and ‘Not Werewolf.’ Scott had mentioned that they had ‘something’ to take care of in the Preserve tonight and  _ Bloodthirsty _ plus  _ Goblin _ in the same sentence spelled double trouble and a serious headache for a Variant. 

“Are you sure that intel is reliable, Vanessa?” Smoker asked. “I mean, Redcaps usually stick to cities and Pixies aren't very social. Why would they come onto this pack's territory?”

And  _ what _ the hell was that? Stiles felt the urge to slide out of the tree and just walk home; done for the night. Redcaps and Pixies.  _ Fuck my life _ he mouthed to himself. 

“Who knows,” Vanessa said nonchalantly. “Why do these creatures do  _ anything _ ? But the intel is good.  Anderson said the Redcaps have already killed a civilian in the area and the pixies were attacking people. Local authorities are chalking it up to a mugging gone wrong and wild animal attacks.”

That last bit really had a frown on Stiles face, more so even than the idea that Redcaps and Pixies were running around all buddy-buddy somewhere out there.  Johan hadn't mentioned any attacks. Why hadn't he mentioned it? For a sickening moment Stiles wondered if maybe his dad was sweeping anything supernatural related under the rug to keep him out of it -kind of like he was doing, so, yes he was aware of the irony thank you. That thought horrified him as much as it made him angry. How  _ dare _ he do something like that. Imagine, trying to  _ protect _ Stiles from the things that go bump in the night after all these years of-

A warning burn flashed across the side of his face and Stiles forced himself to swallow back the steadily building emotion he just didn't have time for. He pressed his lips together, mind buzzing and nerves tingling as the bounty hunters went on talking. 

“Maybe they’ll kill the Werewolves for us,” Mario suggested, and if that wasn't the _ laziest _ , most  _ pathetic _ piece of crap-

“I can’t collect on an already dead Werewolf, idiot,” snapped Vanessa. She paused for a moment and then laughed. “Though, I could still make a nice pair of boots.”

Stiles wanted to throw up. That imagery was just not something he needed in his mind and he couldn't even begin to list the things wrong with that idea. Anyone who wanted to make clothing out of human skin -because Werewolves reverted back to human form when killed,  _ duh _ \- was  _ Silence of the Lamb _ s twisted. Vanessa had no sense of ritual or honor in her art, as all good Hunters did. Oh yes, there were good Hunters. Rare, but there. Stiles was a Hunter. The Variants were Hunters. But Vanessa was in it for the money. They didn't respect the Hunt. It was just sport to them.

That realization, if anything, was enough to steal his resolve. 

So Stiles climbed down the tree, leaving not a sound nor scuffed bark in his wake and made his way back to the abandoned gas station. In absolute silence Stiles drove back to the way he’d come, his eyes fixed on the shadows between the trees as they passed him. 

As disheartening as it was, this had been another learning experience. The Werewolves in Beacon Hills were going to get one hell of a surprise at the end of the week. Also, they were probably up to their necks in Redcaps and Pixies right now. 

If this pack hadn't known how to deal with Fairies then Stiles had little hope that their new battle was going well. Stiles let out a long sigh, gaze hardening as he pulled up the cowl of his shirt over the lower half of his face again, making sure his features weren't exposed.

He had to fix that.

He didn't  _ want _ to fix it, he  _ had _ to. 

This wasn't his Pack. These weren't his friends. This wasn't his duty. 

It was still who he was. 

When Stiles pulled over to the side of the road, the scratched, painted iron mask was in his hand before he knew he’d reached for it. Slipping the cold metal over his face and pulling up his hood felt strangely like coming home.  


	22. You're doing it wrong. Punch them in the face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The venom was slowing Derek down even with his Alpha healing, and at just about the time he’d seen Scott still trying to wrangle the Redcap like cattle, he’d lost the will to talk. He stalked forward and grabbed the rope out of Scott’s hands. With one gracefully obtuse motion he hauled it over his shoulder. The little creature attached to the end shrieked and soared through the air. Its high pitched cry was cut off when it came to a sudden stop against a tree all the way across the clearing and the Redcap lay on the ground moaning and disoriented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapta! Not dead. No Beta. Forgive my errors!!! I'm at that point again where ive got a bunch of small, awesome scenes, but no way to connect them or put them in order >.> working on it. Thanks for sticking with me guys <333333 *throws love at you all*

**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present Time. The Preserve.**

 

It was safe to say that at this point that the Hale Pack was well beyond their monthly quota of troublemaking creatures mucking about in their territory. Unreasonable was what it was. Totally unreasonable. It would have been reasonable (still shitty but  _ reasonable _ ) if it had happened in the same year, but no. Redcaps and Pixies. Same day. Same  _ night _ , actually, which drove it even higher up on the shit list. Of all the creatures who happened to wander around, attacking in groups, these were some of the most vicious. Unlike their fellow flying fae the Fairies, who glowed and liked tricks and games, Pixies are two foot tall emaciated creatures with dragonfly wings and blue blood, which gave their already thin skin a corpse like hue. They also had razor blades claws instead of fingers. Apparently these claws produced a paralytic toxin which the Bestiary had neglected to mention. And the Redcaps? Well, just think three foot tall  _ Children of the Corn _ rejects who tried to gut you with pick axes. Un _ reasonable.  _

Having met with the malicious little creatures while they had been split up, by the time the pack converged at the stream they were all covered in cuts and scratches and none of them were exactly thrilled to be be doing their midnight vigilante work. Isaacs right sleeve was in shreds from the elbow down and a large cut ran across his forehead, bleeding into his eyes. He had charged into the clearing with a Redcap on his heels and had only been spared an axe to the back by a surprize save from Lydia's well thrown incendiary -he got a little singed from the blast but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sometime during the fight Lydia and Allison had hunkered down at a good vantage point with their supernatural protectors flanking them

Erica, the first of her group to have been scratched -on the ass mind you, if the slash in her back pocket was anything to go by- was having what she liked to call a ‘I should have eaten wolfsbane and stayed home today’ day. 

“Oh my god,” the blonde groused, hair a frazzled golden mane about her shoulders, “ _ why  _ did we let Peter stay at the house?” Her foot lashed out to kick at a Redcap that had invaded her personal bubble. “We could have _ thrown _ him at them or something!” 

It seemed like a sane enough question so Boyd even agreed. “Next time,” he grunted.  He had a log about the size of a small tree trunk in his hand and swung it in the air like a tennis racket, hitting a Pixie out of the air. The creature shrieked in a thin warbling voice and disappeared into the leaves above. 

Behind Boyd, near the outskirts of the clearing, Isaac and Jackson, easily the fastest on their feet, were in charge of ‘defending the borders’ as Scott had put it. Jackson had taken a moment to tell Scott that there were no god damn borders for them in the middle of the woods but they’d done it anyway.

They were outnumbered five to one and the odds did not grow better as the minutes passed. For every creature they felled, two more attacked in their place. To top if off they were Alphaless which did not a proper unified front make. Derek was presumably still on the other side of the Preserve, hopefully not the victim of a malicious Fae lynching. 

Isaac cried out as a sharp pain lanced through his leg and he dropped down to one knee. He looked down in time to see a small, dirty little man in red hat yank a proportionately sized pick-axe out of the meat of his calf and run off. Before he could go after it a Pixie latched onto his back and started to claw furiously at his shoulders.

“Focus, Lahey!” Jackson chastised, ripping the little body off the other Beta and hurling it into the nearest tree. 

Isaac growled back, shaking his head as if to clear it and wiping blood from his eyes. Maybe vanity was a plus sometimes. Jackson barely had any scratches on him and those that did reach him weren't on his face. 

Allison, sticking close to Lydia, had long since abandoned her bow and arrows and relied on a karambit fastened to a length of chain. “There are too many of them,” she called out to the others. “We can’t just keep fighting them one on one like this.” The holly oil seemed to be having little effect on the Redcaps except for making them mad.

Isaac limped out of range of another Redcaps axe. “This idea sucked!” he yelled tiredly. 

“I didn't hear  _ you  _ making any helpful suggestions,” Lydia shot back, her sluggishness revealing itself in the snap of her tone. She lobbed something into the air and shouted: “Flare!” The Werewolves barely had time to look away before a miniature red and pink sun lit up the night air, illuminating the area for hundreds of feet around them. 

The Pixies and Redcaps shrieked and scattered, exposing their -horrifyingly- large numbers, and Jackson, who hadn't been quite as quick to look away let out a string of curses, shielding his eyes. “God  _ damnit _ Lydia! More  _ warning _ !”

Kira’s katana sung through the air and as she moved a small littering of cuts showed through her clothing. Her blade sparked with electricity, jumping out to touch what got close enough, but after accidentally shocking Boyd at the beginning of the fight she was wary of surges that might stun a larger group. She stood in front of Lydia and swung at a Pixie coming at them. “I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers,” she said nervously, shifting her grip on her sword. “We need to regroup with Derek and come up with another plan.”

Any one of them might have been in the mood to say  _ ‘screw it, let’s go home’ _ at that point, but a loud roar from the trees gave the clearing pause. Crashing through the undergrowth  and through the darkness like something from Jurassic Park, a shadowy blur shot past Jackson and snatched two Pixies right out of the air with an angry snarl. The dark figure, a one incredibly pissed off Derek Hale, grabbed each creature by its thin neck and hurled them into the nearest tree trunks where they hit and dropped like rocks. 

The grand entrance was met with minimal exuberance from an a quickly tiring Erica. “Yay, the one man cavalry!” She slashed her claws through the air only to wind up tripping over a Redcap running behind her. She  kicked it with the ferocity of a striker shooting a winning goal. The protrusion of her shifted brow made her look even more pissed off as she turned to the Alpha. “Derek, can we get a raise  _ now _ ?”

Their fearless leader was covered in tiny scratches and his shirt looked like someone had went at it with about a thousand razors. Derek, partially shifted himself, glared fiercely at the she-wolf. “Not. Now.” he said in a gravely voice. 

“Derek, we can't fight all of them like this!” Derek turned his frown to the True Alpha. Scott -precious Scott- was the only one who still had his rope in hand, the rest having abandoned theirs somewhere in the Preserve when they realized the Redcaps were not fond of being tied up, questioned, or reasoned with. That being said the ropes did work to some extent. It was still a  _ rope  _ after all. Scott had managed to get one of the little creatures around the middle and was holding on to his end of the rope with an iron fist, desperately trying to keep it in one place as it pulled and strained like a rottweiler on a leash. “It’s not getting weaker! What do we do!?” 

The venom was slowing Derek down even with his Alpha healing, and at just about the time he’d seen Scott still trying to wrangle the Redcap like cattle, he’d lost the will to talk. He stalked forward and grabbed the rope out of Scott’s hands. With one gracefully obtuse motion he hauled it over his shoulder. The little creature attached to the end shrieked and soared through the air. Its high pitched cry was cut off when it came to a sudden stop against a tree all the way across the clearing and the Redcap lay on the ground moaning and disoriented.

“For real?” Scott looked about ready to cry. Whether it was out of relief or his heart bleeding was to hard to tell.

Derek just huffed and in a jerky, rather painful looking motion his features  started to shift. He bowed forward and his arms reached for the ground, his entire body bending till where once stood a man now stood a dark gray wolf. The wolf was almost 4 feet tall at the shoulder and 7 feet long nose to tail; larger and heavier set than a natural wolf would be. It’s fur was short and coarse with the barest hints of gray and black mixed in.  In all, nothing to laugh at, especially if you were the one it had set its sights on. The Alpha’s eyes bled red, tail straight out behind him as he sank his claws into the dirt.

“Butt kicking time!” Erica shrieked. She tumbling to the side, wrestling with a smaller body that had somehow become entangled with her own. Her bare arms changed first, soft fur covering her skin while her Wolf took over. She snarled and barked, limbs thrashing at her attacker till she kicked it off with a powerful push of all four paws. The she-wolf rolled to her feet and shook off a layer of leaves that clung to her fur. 

Derek just huffed and growled in approval and pounced on the nearest enemy. 

Taking the que from the other two -and maybe a little too excited- Jackson shifted next, roaring at two Redcaps closest to him. His transition was perhaps a little more reptilian than the others, but the creature it revealed was no less predatory. Instead of fur simply growing from his skin it was more like his skin shed off in translucent pieces and disappeared, leaving short, bristly fur in its wake. In addition to the light dusting of scaly patches around his muzzle and eyes, Jackson’s wolf had a forked tongue and his fangs protruded past his lips, giving him a much more prehistoric visage. 

Isaac shifted only when he’d gotten closer to the girls and stuck close to them for protection (as much his as their own). Allison caught the rebound of her weapon with one hand, back pressing up against Lydia. “What else have you got left in that bag of yours?” She asked calmly, hand drifting down to wipe her bloody fingers on her pant leg. The remaining light from the emergency flare threw their shadows into the trees, giving their battle a haunting ambiance.

Using the dying light Lydia did a quick inventory and frowned. “I didn't expect to need flares at all so i’ve only got one left.” 

“We could try to distract them again with that,” Alison suggested. “Half of them run away, but half of them seem drawn to the light.”

“At least we can see where they are,” Lydia said. She blinked once after she happened to catch sight of her friends arm. “That looks pretty bad,” she noted.

Allison glanced down at the deep cut on her forearm and swallowed. “Pixie got me earlier. What else have you got?”

Lydia frowned. “Three Molotov cocktails and a stun grenade that might or might not work.”

Kira took up one of their blind sides while Isaac roamed around the edge, snapping his teeth at anything on the ground. “Might?” the Kitsune asked nervously.

The redhead huffed in frustration. “It was in my dad’s old war memorabilia case. I certainly wasn't going to grab the  _ actual  _ grenade.”

Wolf Isaac looked over his shoulder, golden eyes wide as quarters.  He couldn't speak but his words were clear. ‘ _ Please don't throw a grenade at us.’ _

Derek had just clawed down one of the Redcaps when suddenly he froze, pinning the creature to the ground with one massive paw. The Alpha's eyes flashed and his head snapped up, ears perking forward alertly as his lips drew back in a snarl revealing a row of bloodied teeth.  Kira heard the low growl and her eyes lit up with fox fire as she peered in the same direction.

The other wolves were perhaps too busy with other things, but Boyd, wanting to retain the ability to form human sounds and words, had remained only partially shifted form. He noticed what his Alpha had heard a moment later as he wiped some viscera off his face with the back of his hand. “...What the heck is that?” he asked, staring at the dark woods. 

Coming down the slope into the clearing was a form of black and red, half sprinting in some mad, wild imitation of Parkour over fallen trees, roots, and rocks. The form was hard to make out at first as it blended into the shadows like it was one of them, but eventually the details started to stand out. Gloves, the glint of metal, heavy combat boots that barely made a sound.  It was only after a few frantic moments of confusion that a mans voice reached the rest of them, cutting through the din of the fight and the sparking of the flare. 

_ “No, damnit, you’re doing it wrong- the face! Punch them in the face!!” _


	23. A pack to look after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd’s eyes flashed yellow as the masked figure dodged past him with a sharp pivot of his foot. While he turned he dipped low and drove his fist into the gut of a Redcap, pushing the creature back with a well-timed shove that didn't even break his stride. When the man tilted his face up Boyd's breath caught, seeing the red light from the flare gleam off the etched mask. “Watch your feet,” warned the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ieeeeeeee.... have no excuse for this super late late LATE chapter. There are going to typos as I can barely stay awake right now. Prepping for an art booth at a convention sorta just....i don't know, life exploded all over these last few months O.O
> 
> Will update Anything for the Pack tomorrow or the next day!!! T.T
> 
> 6-13-17: made some edits with the formatting. Apparently, my paragraphs are making duplicates of themselves. The bastards.

Typically when someone yells ‘duck’ some prehistoric instinct tells you to instead look for what you were supposed to avoid. Most of the time that results in the thing you were supposed to avoid -flying debris, a baseball, a knife, an entire human body if you were _really_ in the thick of it- colliding with you in a sometimes fatal way. It was the same for other orders as wel -or in this case, wild suggestions of violence. It was instinctive to question, hesitate, for even a moment, so you could for judge yourself whether or not following the order was in your own best interest.

Scott did not have this particular instinct.

While his packmates wondered if the venom was making them hallucinate, the crooked jawed Werewolf turned sharply to the Pixie who was trying to make ribbons of his arm and immediately drove his fist into the creature's nose (or entire face, considering their heads were roughly the size of tennis balls). There was a disturbing crunch, like a bag of chips being stepped on, and the creature dropped, howling in pain through a row of broken teeth as watery blue blood poured down from its nose and mouth. A dopey grin slid over Scott’s face as he finally looked at the trees. “Hey, guys!” Scott turned eagerly to Kira, Allison, and Lydia, pointing enthusiastically with both hands, one of which was splattered with blue blood. “ _It’s the guy!”_

Perhaps shocked that the mysterious masked man they’d heard about was an actually...well… a _real_ person with an honest to god mask, the girls were at an uncommon loss for words. Alison was probably the most shocked. She’d studied and trained with professionals and knew every trick in the book when it came to dealing with creatures (she  _thought_ she had at least, but the last few days were proving her quite wrong) but she’d never heard of just punching a Pixie in the face, let alone _doing_ it.

Another crunch followed by a loud shriek came from the side and they turned to see Boyd standing over another flying creature, blue liquid glistening off his knuckles as he flexed his hand. “Heh,” he said simply, with a satisfied little smile. “It worked -whoa!” He took a hurried step back just in time to avoid getting knocked into by the man in the mask. Boyd blinked, surprise making his eyes widen. It wasn’t only that he was fast -they were Werewolves for Christ sake, they were _used_ to fast- it was that they hadn't _noticed_ the stranger getting that close. One minute he was at the edge of the clearing running down to them and the next he was close enough to touch. Boyd’s eyes flashed yellow as the masked figure dodged past him with a sharp pivot of his foot. While he turned he dipped low and drove his fist into the chest of a Redcap, pushing the creature back with a well-timed shove that didn't even break his stride. When the man tilted his face up Boyd could feel his wolf's ears perk forward, seeing the red light from the flare gleam off the etched mask. “Watch your feet,” the man warned simply. The tall betas eyes flashed in startled response. Before Boyd could take another step back the man changed directions with what sounded like an irritated click of his tongue and practically dove into the fray. 

The entire encounter lasted less than 10 seconds and all the Pack could do was watch.

When the flare started to die enough that it wasn't physically painful to look at, Derek glanced around the clearing to see the unconscious bodies of three Pixies and two Redcaps on the forest floor. Bodies that he and his Pack had not put there. “Wow….” he heard Kira mutter. Spell broken, the unpleasant, terrifying gravity that was their situation rushed down on the Alpha. A stranger had hedged in on his territory, his fight, and did so without one member of his Pack trying to stop it, including himself. The fur along the length of the dark wolf's spine bristled and he snarled, lips peeling back over glistening fangs.

The man was standing a few yards away from them now. The Redcaps were still running around, clearly upset while the Pixies flew in haphazard patterns above, shrieking and clawing as close to them as they dared.  A Pixie dangled by its wings as he gripped the translucent membranes like crumpled paper while the creature shrieked. Pale blue blood dripped down its back from where one of the appendages had been torn. “Hey!” The man called out, holding his captive at arms length while it clawed uselessly at his arm guards. “ _Hier drüben, arschlöcher!_ ” The shout drew everyone's attention. Some of the creatures even stopped their attacking all together, kind and kin alike intrigued by the injured prey and the stranger's call. Now that he had their attention, the man's posture relaxed a bit, less formidable and more placating. “That’s it,” The masked man urged. His voice was calm like he was speaking to an agitated animal. “Over here. Over here, come on, you nasty little fuc- Ow! Bastard, don't _bite_.” He gave the Pixie a rough shake and it shrieked in pain. A Redcap seized the opportunity to charge in, pickaxe raised high (though whether it was to rescue the Pixie -unlikely- or to hamstring the masked man remained to be seen.) Scott and Isaac both barked out a warning but the man was ready for it. Free hand shooting out like a snake he grabbed the creature's head, bunching hair and the fabric of its cap in his fist and holding tight. “ _Ab uno_ disce omnes!” he shouted, voice hollow and metallic behind the mask. “ _Relinquo! Relinquo, vel mori!_ ”

Brushing strands of hair from a sweat-dampened forehead, Allison blinked to clear her blurring vision. “What's he saying?” She asked. She gripped the cut on her arm hard enough that her fingers turned as white as her face.

Lydia translated roughly, unfamiliar with the phrase and a little too distracted to pay full attention. “Latin. Something about leaving or dying.” 

“You too,” the man announced and Lydia jumped, not expecting the comment. The man's voice was muffled but no less sharp. The sudden commotion the stranger had caused had at least done the trick of halting the barrage of flying and ground attacks from the creatures and had also given the pack time to regroup, coming together in a defensive circle near the center of the clearing. Lydia frowned, glancing at Derek who was practically vibrating in anger where he stood, fur mussed from the fighting while the small injuries healed. The Alpha let out a rolling low growl through bared teeth while his tail stuck straight out behind him. The Redcap pinned under his massive paw clawed furiously at the wolf's leg and spat vile words, neither its sharp nails or the curses having much effect. “Uh, that's not happening,” Lydia stated for them all with a shake of her head.

The masked face turned to them and Kira tensed, her sword shifting in her grip while Scott took a step forward like a man coming between two armies with a white flag. "Wait, wait, we can help!" he offered quickly while he smiled hopefully at all of them. Derek snarled to shut the True Alpha up and Scott's eyes flashed red in response.

The stranger just took a deep breath and turned his gaze to Derek. “Let it go,” he told him, speaking of his captive. “They _will_ leave if you give them the option but if you kill it, they attack again.”

Taken aback by the statement, Kira blinked and leaned towards Alison so she could whisper. “Would that really work?" True, the creatures weren't attacking them now and were watching them creepily, but was that really how it would play out?  Kira's expression was skeptical as she looked around at the little bodies on the ground. "Didn't he just kill a bunch of them?"

Allison frowned and shook her head slowly, looking around as well. “No...no, look: they aren't dead.” Erica, still fully shifted, nudged the sprawled Redcap closest to her experimentally with one tap of her paw and it let out a thin, gurgling whine but remained still. She let out a little sneeze of disgust and sidestepped away. 

Jackson, all tense anger, and impatience raised his lips to show gums as he growled threateningly, staring at the masked man with burning yellow eyes. The masked man spoke to the irate Beta without looking at him. "I'm not lying. They will leave if he lets it go. They know they're outmatched now." 

Maybe implying, even unintentionally, that the only reason the Redcaps and Pixies would leave was that the stranger had helped them was not the best way to stoke a Werewolfs pride. Now Derek was in no mood to be ‘letting anyone go.’ The clearing seemed to go dead silent and the eyes of every creature, hovering or hiding the in the shadows seemed to be on them; waiting for the final move. Lydia saw it coming and was about to open her mouth to suggest their Alpha refrain from acting like a petulant child, but Derek shifted his weight forward with one good lean, crushing something important enough that the creature under his paw shrieked and fought for its life. 

The man went completely still, almost eerily so in comparison the the low hum up the Pixies hovering above, and the odd, rattling hiss of the small Redcaps as they waited just beyond reach. “You _sure_ you want it this way, Alpha?” The man asked.

Derek _didn't_ want it this way. He wanted to go home and sleep for two days. He didn't like fighting creaturs every night and neither did his pack. He knew that, and he knew that for some reason this stranger was offering them a solution. He liked easy solutions and _didn't_ believe that things were too good to be true. He would have _liked_ to have just taken the stranger at his word and walked away, leaving the mess for someone else. What Derek did _not_ like however, was the fact that this _stranger’s_ presence felt like a direct challenge. It wasn't a ‘get the hell off my lawn’ kind of thing, nor was it a wolfs baying for blood at the thought of his territory being breached. Derek's wolf was wary for a whole different reason. He sensed that this stranger could challenge him and his Betas might actually _listen_.

The Alpha did _not_ like to be challenged for the loyalty of his Pack. Derek put his full weight forward and felt his paw crush the creature that was under it.

Erica and Isaac let out small whines and sidestepped away from their Alpha and Lydia sighed. They all felt the man’s eyes on them from behind the metal mask and the outraged shriek of the creatures around them rose into a deafening wail.

They all saw the man take a deep breath and let it out quickly. Without warning the Redcap he was holding had its face brought swiftly to smash against his knee and then a moment later the Pixies wings were separated from its body by a push of the man's thumb, dropping the thin body to the ground. Proceeding to do the opposite of letting the little beasts run away as he’d suggested, the stranger bent down and snatched the sodden cap off the Redcaps head. He squeezed the fabric in his fist. Dark crimson droplets cascaded down from the cap and the Redcap let out a pitiful moan, bony hand reaching out for the stolen article. With each drop of blood that left the fabric the creature grew paler. It was like watching a plant wither. All the color left its face and once the wrung out cap was tossed aside, the Redcap was lying motionless on the ground, its pale, emaciated body practically fading into the leaves. Not a second later a blade the stranger drew from one of his armguards flashed out, catching the face of a diving Pixie and cutting from ear to nose and arching over into the meat of its pure black eye. The man then raised his hand quickly and pointed at them again while the racket around them grew to a frenzy. This time he sounded a little less reasonable and a little more pissed. “If you want to do it this way,” he snapped at them, “do it _right_ .” 

Scott was the first to recover and he shook his head eagerly. "R-right!" he said, not even sparing a glance at his Alpha. "What do we do?"

The strangers disapproving eyes -and how could they _not_ be disapproving after that display- looked at Lydia first. “Do you have another flare?” Lydia let Kira kick away a Redcap running at her and nodded only because there was no point in being difficult. She only hoped she wasn't going to be ordered to do anything to athletic because she was starting to go numb, the pixi venom setting pins and needles to her entire body. “Set it off by the tree line,” the man told her, pointing to the edge of the clearing opposite the stream. It would direct any fleeing Fae towards the water, which they were also reluctant to cross, trapping them in between.

He directed the next question to Allison. “You're carrying iron?”

Alison nodded automatically, keeping her back against Lydia's. "My arrowheads."

The man nodded. “If you can still hold the bow steady, shoot down the Pixies. If you can't, use the arrow as a hand held weapon. You only need to scratch them with iron and it will slow them down.” Like she was hearing the command from her own father, Allison had an arrow knocked before she even knew it, karambit safely stowed on her belt. Once the girls were set, the man backhanded a Pixie right out of the air, the iron inlays on his gloves burning the creature's skin. He looked at Scott, Jackson, and Isaac. “You three,” he barked, starting to move around, dodging and weaving past new attacks. “Take the remaining Redcaps." 

Jackson bit savagely at a Redcaps who tried to get close but when he turned that snarl towards the stranger, rebelling against the idea of being told what to do, the man actually pointed a finger at him and barked out; "Save it Fido, I'm not in the mood." Isaac couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter and the man went on. "Those with opposable thumbs; wring their caps dry. Those without; toss them in the stream.” Scott gave the man a serious blank-faced thumbs up and went about tackling the nearest Redcap, barely managing to avoid the pickax.

Kira and Boyd both jumped in surprize when the man called out to them next. "Kitsune, tall Beta! Cover the humans and corral the creatures towards the stream.” Boyd looked to Derek warrily while Kira glanced between the Alpha and Scott, unsure of what to do. Scott was preoccupied with his own task and Derek looked like he was about to have conniption. “Move!” The man snapped when they hesitated. Unable to think of another option, Derek growled in confirmation and the rest of the Pack split. He didn’t wait for a command because like _hell_ he would take one, and he was already moving, viciously and numbly tearing into the nearest creature he’d been able to grab. Fueled by righteous rage and confusion the thing didn't even stand a chance. He may have happened to toss the creatures cap in the stream afterwards.

The din was terrible, little inhuman shrieks and animal growls filling the night air. Before Lydia's last flare died out however, the night was silent once more. The last Fae to fall was by Derek’s hand -or paw- but by that time he was livid. ”What the _hell_ is going on!” He roared at his Pack who were just standing there and observing. He realized a second later that he was still in his wolf form and all that came out was “grarRAAAWRrrrrrrr! Arf!” Or something along those lines. So the Alpha rounded on the stranger who was cleaning his knives with a handful of damp leaves and snarled, centering his gravity closer to the ground as his ear flattened back against his skull.

The masked man was not intimidated. “Redcap bodies decompose in 30 minutes,” he told them. “The Pixies dry out and crumble. 4 hours tops and this clearing will be clean.”

Scott skirted around Derek and went to squat down next to the masked man, making Derek’s hackles rise. He didn’t want his Beta so close to this stranger. A stranger who was obviously unconcerned with shedding blood and was still very much armed and _way_ too damn comfortable thinking he could order around _his_ pack.

“How did you find us again?” Scott asked, a grin on his face. The stranger froze for a second and he looked up at Scott like he just realized he was there. Tension radiated out from the man’s shoulders and he seemed suddenly less sure than when he'd been fighting. 

Kira took a wary step forward and Derek growled. “Hun, maybe you-“ she started, but Scott just grinned at her.

“It’s okay Kira,  he’s totally–“ Suddenly a gloved hand was slapped over Scott’s mouth and Derek let out a roar. The other wolves tensed as their pack mate fell over, the stranger pinning him to the forest floor in one swift, too fast to see maneuver. Kira had her sword pointed straight at him and Isaac lunged forward, eyes suddenly bright yellow as he came to Scott's defense.

Seeing the werewolf and realizing that maybe that had not been the best action, the stranger held up a hand and scrambled off Scott. “Wait, wait, wait!” The note of panic was fleeting and soft, but it made Isaac stop. A growl rumbled in Derek’s throat as he stalked forward, massive paws sinking into the earth. The stranger kept his hands visible and stared at the wolf but wisely chose not to move or speak. Derek felt his tail fluff out in anger and barked out a harsh sound again, eyes bleeding red till Scott picked himself up and took a step away.

“Well…" Kira asked the others quietly, sword still aimed at the mans chest. "What do we do?” 

“Bury him somewhere,” Jackson groused. He had shifted back as soon as the fighting was done and had somehow managed to find his discarded pants amidst the foliage. He’d probably never see his shirt again but didn’t seem to mind in the least and seemed to take prides that he was the least dirt covered of the wolves next to Boyd.

Erica rolled her eyes as she pull her hair back into a ponytail, ignoring the leaves ind twigs in it. She was back in her beta form and thanks to the pronounced brow ridge she looked even more irritated than usual by Jackson's glib comment. Boyd pulled off his shirt and tossed it at her. While she slipped it on she asked, “For what, helping us? _Again_?”

“Isn’t that what we normally do with Hunters?” Jackson insisted.

That earned him a glare from a pale-faced Allison. “Really, Jackson?”

“Ones we don’t _like_ ,” he clarified.

The brunette rubbed her eyes tiredly and let out a sigh. “I’m just...to poisoned to argue with you right now. Can we just figure it out soon please?”

“We should get out of here,” Boyd muttered, choosing to ignore the stranger in favor of eyeing their Huntress's injuries.

“Can we just... leave him here?” Kira wondered. Her sword lowered for a moment and she regarded the man unsurely.

Jackson threw his hands up in the air and let out a frustrated groan. “Why is throwing him a ditch somewhere off the table? It’s not like it’s a new thing!”

“Because we’re not doing it!” Scott insisted at the same time Erica looked about ready to pick up a branch and hurl it at her packmate.

“I'm not killing someone that keeps _helping_ us, you psyco lizard!” She snapped.

Unwilling to listen to any more bickering, Derek rounded on his Beta’s and let out a short but very loud roar that shook the leaves on the trees. They cowed sullenly and Kira scuffed her foot on the ground, looking chastised. Before Derek could growl at his pack further, Lydia's arm was suddenly in the air with none other than her fathers might or might not work flash grenade in her hand. She called out in a cool tone: “Where do you think _you’re_ going?” The rest of the pack swiveled their heads. While they’d been arguing the masked man had stood up and started to walk away. He had gotten about 10 feet. 

When the redhead called him out he froze. “I...uh…” the man started, but then his head tilted to the side in a comical, disbelieving fashion, causing the wolf mask to look more humorous than it actually was. “...Is that a grenade?”

Lydia's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Yes," She answered, thumb hooked through the pin. "and I know how it works." It was never a good idea to test the redhead's mettle. Too long being underestimated and thought less off for some reason or another made a person a little more ballsy when challenged. Perhaps the man could sense that in her because he nodding slowly and let out a muted, nervous laugh. Then he did yet another unexpected thing.

He turned on his heel and started running away.

Lydia hurled the grenade.

There's nothing like an airborne explosive to put the spring back in one’s step and even the humans, weary as they were from the Pixie venom, ducked for cover. Scott made a run for Kira on pure boyfriend instinct. He clapped his palms over his girlfriends' ears and the Kitsune jumped, panicked, and then clapped her hands over Scott’s ears in what might have been the most humorous display of mutual protectiveness ever. Neither of them could hear Lydia call them idiots under her breath as she ducked into a crouch and covered her own ears. Erica dropped down next to the Lydia and Allison and curled up, pressing her hands to her fuzzy ears so tightly she felt her skull compress while Boyd put his bulk between the girls and the projectile. For the still fully shifted members of the pack however, there wasn't much they could do to prepare themselves. Derek snarled and dropped to his belly, Isaac following his lead. This was not going to be pleasant for them.

The grenade fell to the ground just behind the masked man, skittering along and almost getting lost amidst the leaves. Before it could stop bouncing and disappear, however, the stranger glanced over his shoulder and turned on his heel mid-stride, paused for maybe a second, and then ran back to the grenade. With a retrieval only a lacrosse fanatic like Jackson or maybe Scott could admire, he stooped down and snatched it up before hurling it another hundred feet off to the side. As soon as the device left his hand he turned and shouted; “Are you _crazy_ woman, there are WEREWOLVES with you-!” The loud admonishment was cut off when the world went completely white. The concussive wave of sound hit like a cannon going off, rattling the delicate bones of the ear and the brilliant flash of light outdid the light from the flares 200%. The ground turned on top of itself and the Wolves did their best to bury their heads with leaves, paws and dirt.  Someone let out a pained, long, groaning scream -or maybe all of them did- and they waited the eternity it took for their senses to come online again.

It took a minimum of five minutes for a normal human to recover from a sensory attack like that and by the time those minutes were up it was no surprise that the masked man nowhere to be seen. Ears twitching on top of his head as a high pitched whine escaped his throat unwillingly, Derek opened his eyes and found that everything had doubles or even triples. He saw blurred shapes shift around him and deep, resonating voice slurred unintelligible words. In a sheer moment of panic Derek was sure that he’d gone deaf, but then he felt his healing start to kick in, repairing the damage to his ears. He licked at his muzzle and tasted blood. A quick sneeze sprayed the leaves in front of him with little specks of red. 

When he felt he was ready, Derek shifted back to his human form and staggered a step, wondering if now would be an appropriate time to throw up in that bush over there. He felt something on the side of his face and when he pulled his hand back after wiping it away, his fingers came back bloody. “Shit,” he said, only to find that his own voice sounded far away.

Isaac had apparently tried to shift back mid explosion and looked extremely confused as he tried to get to his feet and failed. He let out an ‘oof’ as he hit the ground and lay there with his eyes squeezed shut. “Anyone else blind?” he called out loudly.

“What?” Jackson called out just as loud, sticking a finger in his ear.

Derek staggered again when he took another step but remained upright through sheer willpower. “We have to go after him!” he snapped as nicely as he could. His words sounded hollow and his head swam with the effort.

From her sprawled position on the ground, Erica gave him a look that clearly said ‘bite me.’ Even Boyd was sitting still, blinking with a dazed expression on his face.

“Derek,” Scott asked with no level of volume control when Kira dropped her hands from his ears. “Can we make it a rule that Lydia can’t have grenades?”  

Rather than arguing with the idea that she was banned from anything,  the young woman cried out, “Guys!” The others turned to see the redhead hovering over an unconscious Allison. The Huntress was bleeding heavily from the nose and her skin had taken on a pale blueish shade, particularly around the cuts and scratches from the Pixies.

Kira stumbled over to them, wiping away a trail of blood from her nose. “The venom.” Her voice was a bit more subdued than the others but still a little too loud. “Derek, we’ve got to get her to Deaton now.”

Derek cast a glance back at the trees and growled before jerking his head to the side. His pack was injured and staggering, the effects of the grenade only worn off enough for them to stand, not give chase. Allison and Lydia had been poisoned and needed to be treated right away. Derek didn't have time to chase some crazy man through the woods tonight. He had a Pack to look after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German  
> “Hier drüben, arschlöcher!” (over here, assholes)
> 
> Latin  
> "Ab uno disce omnes! Relinquo! Relinquo, vel mori." (This is apparently a legit Latin thing. Roughly translated to "From one, learn all!" Stiles is basically saying, hey, look here what I'm doing to this one. leave or i'll do this to you!" leave or die.)


	24. No cry unheard, no pain unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Garlic? No. And pretty much anything dies if you stab it in the heart with a big piece of wood, so don't knock the stakes,” the Variant said. After a moment he added; “We do train with live grenades though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more with the Tylka Pack. No you have not seen the last of them. I love them too much. This story is INVOLVED damnit.

 

**Carpathian Mountains, Bratislava, Slovakia. Early April. A few months earlier.**

 

Darek rolled onto his stomach, staring at the man currently playing a spirited game of Call of Duty with Józef. Cerwin -the man their Alpha had welcomed into their home two weeks ago- wasn't entirely familiar with things like video games, or pop culture references, or general 'younger generation' stuff that Darek, Józef, and Jovana considered indispensable in their social lives, but he fit in easily enough. The youngest of their Pack had taken an instant liking to him. Darek had too mind you, in fact, all of the Werewolves were excited and nervous about having this mysterious -but highly recommended- stranger in their home whose sole duty while here was to help them be a proper Pack. They could not afford to upset another Alpha and their traditional sensibilities by their lack of understanding of traditional protocol and Pack politics. Jovana was _still_ limping from the last fight and that had been almost a month ago. They were dangerously close to being run out of their home by another Pack. Even a stubborn teen like Darek knew they were in a jam and he did not want to die at the age of 19.

So Derek listened to what Cerwin had to say and followed his instructions, all the while trying to get a handle on the stranger that wasn't really so strange anymore. “Cerwin,” the dark haired werewolf asked as the Variant lobbed a grenade and lit up half the screen, “Were you ever in a real war?”

The brunette didn't pause playing and Darek heard Ada sigh in the kitchen and stand from her chair. Cerwin returned with a question. “What do you mean?”

Józef frowned, bottom lip sticking out in concentration. “He means with soldiers and explosions and stuff,” he filled in, button bashing in hopes of getting the upper hand. “Fighting for a country or like...freedom or something.”

The Variant snorted a laugh. “Freedom? No. I have fought with soldiers though.” Józef groaned and whined about friendly fire.

Darek scratched at the beginnings of the sparse stubble on his cheek. “Are _you_ a solder?”

Cerwin did pause now glanced at Darek who tensed when their eyes met. Both seemed to flash Beta gold even though the trait was impossible for one of them.  “I know how to fight,” The brunette answered. “If that’s what you mean.”

Józef made a face when his side of the screen washed red and his player died. Ada, who had left the kitchen when she heard the conversation in the livingroom, walked behind the couch and ruffled Dareks hair roughly. The teen growled and batted her hand away. “Sorry, Cerwin,” Ada said to the human. “He doesn't mean to pry.” Everyone had been curious about the Variants but Błażej  had been surprisingly tight lipped about it, like he wasn't even sure _he_ should have the information. He just told them to shut up, be grateful, and finish their homework.

Darek shot the Alpha’s mate an incredulous look when she said that however. “Uh, yes I do. I’m curious.”

Cerwin laughed and set his controller down on his knee. “It’s fine, Ada,” he assured her. To Darek he explained, “I’m probably a little closer to mercenary, but Variants don’t work for the highest bidder. I agree to help a Pack with something and that is where my loyalty lies until the job is done.”

Józef frowned, eyeing their new friend warily. “What if an enemy Pack asks for your help? Would you fight against us?”

The brunette smiled in a wolfish way that had the youngest Beta confused. “If you guys do something _really_ monumentally stupid after I leave, there is a chance.” Józef  paled and Cerwin shoved his shoulder playfully. “Don’t worry. Our selection process is pretty strict.”

The youngest wolf blew a raspberry as he started up the game again, trying to gain the upper hand by element of surprize.

“So like a supernatural mercenary, “ Darek continued, taking advantage of the fact that Ada wasn't stopping him. “Is this kind of babysitting work normal for you or are you more of a field guy?”

Cerwin snorted at his options. “You're not going to be calling it babysitting when we get into the _fun_ part of training," he said. "But I don’t know. I just do what I have to do. I could just as easily be helping a Pack fight off a Vampire Nest or keeping a little suburban town from becoming a supernatural war zone. In this case, I’m helping Błażej and Ada with traditional Werewolf Pack structure and politics so you guys don’t go offending the next Pack that comes calling.” He threw something at an alien and it exploded as his player ran in the opposite direction and Jozef whined again about friendly fire.

“War zones and Vampires,” Darek repeated, scepticism clear in his voice. “Don’t tell me you trained with stakes, garlic, and live grenades.”

“Garlic? No. And pretty much anything dies if you stab it in the heart with a big piece of wood, so don't knock the stakes,”  the Variant said. After a moment he added; “We do train with live grenades though.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Beacon Hills, California, USA. Present.**

 

One of the downsides to using flash grenades was a person's ability to build up a resistance to them which is _why_ they were, in fact, a mandatory Variant training device. There was nothing worse than completely losing your ability to focus in the middle of a fight and getting used to nearly being blown up or blinded or deafened was sort of a necessity. It still hurt like a bitch, and yes, it's still an explosive, but if you knew what to expect and had the ability to rely on whatever senses happened to work best in a particular moment, it wasn't debilitating.

Still, Stiles felt like he'd been hit in the forehead with a sandbag.

The grenade had gone off about four seconds after he’d lobbed it meaning it was still in flight with no ground to absorb the blast.  He’d been busy shouting at Lydia and hadn't _quite_ avoided the flare of light that punched him in the eyes, nor the boom that had punched him equally as hard in the ears and by chain of reaction; the brain. It could have been worse, he told himself. It could have been a _regular_ grenade. Stiles didn't know how he was going to look Lydia in the face tomorrow without slapping her.

He didn't bother to make sure the Wolves or Humans were okay because he just didn't have that kind of time and he ran back to where he’d parked the jeep. He took a 20 minute detour on the drive back to his house in order to ensure that he didn't come across the Wolves who would no doubt be on their way back after they got their legs under them. Allison and Lydia hadn't looked to good and judging from the state of the scratches on their bodies they’d had an unpleasant dose of Pixie venom. He only hoped the Wolves had enough sense to get them to a doctor rather than bite them or some other equally stupid thing. God, wouldn’t that be a mess.

The side roads -though long and quite- hadn't given Stiles sufficient time to collect his thoughts properly before he arrived back home, but he managed to park the jeep quietly on the street, climb up to his window and into his room, and collapsed onto his bed like it was the place he had decided to lay down and expire.

The young man breathed out a long sigh, finally tearing his mask off and pulling the neck cowl down. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat -more from nerves that physical exertion- sticking his bangs to his forehead. He slicked his hair back with his palm, feeling the slight raise of the scar on his forehead that his hair had been keeping hidden. The mask dropped onto the floor and Stiles rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly as his heart hammered at his ribs.

After a moment of frantic inhalations threatening to dissolve into a deeper panic he took a deep breath and held it, shutting his eyes tight and tensing his body so that he was entirely still, hearning only the roar of his own blood in his ears. He held the air in his lungs till it hurt and only then let it out, red creeping into the edges of his vision as the pressure slowly released in his chest

Once his pulse stopped hammering in his skull Stiles listened to his surroundings. His dad's light snores at the end of the hallway were the only sounds in the house apart from the normal creaks and groans of the old walls and roof.While he was thankful a father that could sleep like the dead, he felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. While his Base Leader had been sleeping, he'd been doing secret recon missions. He couldn't help think that if he’d had _proper_ intel about the non-voters here then he could have taken care of them before the Werewolves got involved. Proper Intel would have warned him sooner about the Bounty Hunters. Proper intell would give him an idea of just what kind of messed up pack dynamic he was _dealing_ with here. As Stiles recalled the folder with its sparse notes and old photographs in his desk drawer the side of his face felt warm, because if he’d had _proper_ intel, he could have-

Stiles drew in a quick breath, clenching his teeth as he silenced his thoughts.

Getting angry wasnt going to get him anything; not now anyway. Nothing except a migraine. He did _not_ need a migraine.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and hissed. He needed to prioritize the situation at hand. He needed to evaluate. Recognize the facts, address the problems, come up with a plan. Think and then react. He needed to make a list.The cup of pens and pencils that had been on his nightstand since he was a child was what he reached for first. Chewed up and dried out writing utensils in hand, Stiles exhaled slowly and took aim at the ceiling. “One,” The pencil lodged into the ceiling and hung there like a stalactite. “The Bounty Hunters are out for blood.” Blood, pelts, and rewards it seemed. “Super crazy, dangerous, and armed. Figure out how to deter them within the next…” Stiles glanced at his alarm clock. “51 hours. Awesome.” He went back to staring up at the marks on this ceiling and sent a chewed up pen to hang out with the pencil. “Two; not just one Alpha.” Two Alphas. In the same territory. That scenario was trouble enough when territory was at stake, but to see them working _together_ to fight Redcaps and Pixies? That was a little hard for him to swallow. “Figure out how all _that_ mess works and make sure it’s got nothing to do with that damn World Tree.” Stiles was _so_ ready to blame all his bad luck on that tree. “Three; Werewolves with full, complete shift.” As crazy as that sounded to him Stiles couldn't deny what his eyes had seen. An entire pack -or two packs- could transform into full wolves and he _knew_ most of them weren’t born Werewolves. That was just weird. “Figure out why and _how_ that is possible. Four;” he had to sigh at this one because he was a little disappointed. “Allison is definitely a Hunter.” The way she moved, the calluses on her hands, the way she fought. Tonight had pretty much confirmed it for Stiles. He’d really hoped that Allison, Hunter or not, would have been a little better at keeping the Pack business on the down low. Alas, disappointment. “Figure out _why_ she runs with the Pack and what family she’s with.” The last one had him sending a fifth pencil into the ceiling a little deeper than the rest.  "Finally, number five; Jackson wants to kill me -mask or no mask.” He sighed despondently and let his head sink deeper into the pillow. That one might have to wait.

The young man let out a quiet groan and rubbed his temples, trying to ease away the stress headache he felt coming despite his efforts to keep it at bay. Instead he felt a flare of pain in his left hand and frowned. Sitting up in bed he peeled off his gloves and arm guards and let them drop onto his lap. The light in his room was dim but the swelling of his knuckles on both his hands along with the bruising and small cuts on his fingers were pretty obvious. Damn Pixies and their sharp little needle teeth. Stiles paused when he flexed his fingers and then glanced down at his left hand which was a little...off looking? “Great,” he muttered, seeing the problem instantly. The first and second knuckles on his middle finger were inflamed and swollen, a clear sign of a dislocation. There hadn’t been quite enough venom transferred by the little cuts so he didn't feel any paralysis, but it also explained why he only noticed the injury now.

Stiles gently prodded at the swollen digit and found that, thankfully, nothing was broken. The gloves usually did an acceptable job of protecting his hands but that was _before_ Beacon Hills Technical College and becoming the Sheriff's son, _before_ he needed to worry about what his hands looked like the next day. The Tylka Pack certainly didn't find anything odd about their Variant friend showing up with cuts and bruises or something bandaged up that hadn't been the day before, but Stiles Stilinski? Well, he couldn't exactly go to school with his hands wrapped up, smelling like bruises, antiseptic and tiger balm. Sure, he could explain it away as a mishap doing some home renovations or some other accident, but not to the Wolves, _especially_ because he knew that most of them had experienced similar injuries the night before right along with him.

Staring at his hand for a few moments longer, dwelling in his own thoughts, Stiles popped his finger back into place with little more than a small huff. His entire hand burned with pain and then went numb for a moment but the relief that came after was almost soothing. Almost.

Standing wearily, a hundred things on his mind, Stiles tossed his gloves and guards into his closet before he stripped off his sweatshirt and the protective padding underneath. The clothing came next -more sweaty than dirty- but it went in the hamper anyway. He was growing more and more thankful that he and his dad used only the finest of non-scented washing products because with the amount of times they had to wash their clothing after a job they would never be able to get a traditional detergent smell off of them.

Clad only in his briefs and a tired frown, Stiles walked into the bathroom adjacent to his room. His father had his own so he didn't have to worry about cleaning up _all_ the blood that he’d washed off his hands so he quickly stuck them under a steady stream of cold water. He watched as the multicolored gore circled down the drain and then rubbed some ointment over his knuckles, thinking he’d have to wear some gloves with more padding in the future. If he was going to keep getting involved -as much as the very idea exhausted him- he was going to have to take into consideration what he was going look like the next day. He couldn't just _tell_ people the bandage on his face was from a knife being thrown in his general direction and don’t worry, the guy who did it is very dead now.

Hands tingling pleasantly thanks to the cream and icy water, Stiles trudged back into his room to plop down in front of his laptop, wishing he didnt feel about a hundred years old. He glanced at the clock again as he opened up a video chat window and sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. It would be around 8am there now. Either Liath was already outside doing training things with the Walsh Pack or he was going to be waking her up on one of the rare days she wanted to sleep in. Either way, she’d probably be pissed.

It took 3 minutes for the call to connect and when Liaths face finally popped up Stiles could see she was outside already sweating and slightly out of breath with her hair pulled back and no makeup on.  “ _Don’t you sleep?”_ she asked, still on the move.

Stiles was just glad she answered. “No. You alone?”

 _“Wouldn’t take your call unless I was,”_ she replied. Stiles nodded. Liath rolled her eyes but slowed and Stiles caught sight of tall trees behind her as she came to a stop.

“Nice morning?” Stiles said in way of greeting.

“ _Brisk_ ,” the Variant replied flatly. _“But you didn’t call to ask me that. What’s wrong.”_

That was all the prompting Stiles needed to tell her everything that happened. Maybe he left out the fact that he’d been so mad at the Alpha for killing that Redcap after all his hard work he’d been ready to shoot him in his fuzzy ass, but he didn't think Liath needed to know his personal feelings on the matter. By the time Stiles was done explaining, Liath was sitting down at the base of a tree, staring into her phone like she wished she could jump through it a punch someone. _“Rua...you’re dumb,"_ she announced.

Stiles sighed quietly and rubbed his eyes. “I know.” After recounting it all out loud he wasn't surprised with her assessment.

Liath stared at him from the screen. “Do _you though?_ _You galavant around their territory unannounced like some masked vigilante out of a comic and then you go to school with them, pretending like nothing happened?_

“Well, it just sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Stiles muttered guiltily

 _“They’re still_ Werewolves _for fucks sake! They will figure it out!”_

Stiles winced. “I don’t know,” he told her. “They aren’t that…aware.”

 _“You’re_ all _dumb then,”_ Liath huffed, running her fingers through her hair. _“And you’re lucky those Alphas didn't kill you tonight. You’re being beyond reckless.”_

“So are they,” Stiles muttered.

 _“Amen,”_ Liath agreed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. _“Rua, you’ve got to tell your dad about this now.”_

“Abso-freaking-loutly not,” was his immediate reply. “Besides,” Stiles added, “he’s keeping stuff from me so I'm just acting in kind.”

 _“You’re acting like a child,”_ Liath snapped. _“This is dangerous. And don't try to tell me that you’re not planning to mess with these Bounty Hunters on Friday either. You wouldn't scout them out twice if they weren't up to something bad.”_

“Well of course they’re up to something bad,” Stiles relayed. “I literally heard them talking about skinning Werewolves and wearing the human skin around on their feet.”

Liath groaned, ignoring his words. “ _If you’re thinking of Declaring to this Pack-”_

“I am _not_ Declaring!” Stiles growled suddenly, feeling his skin heat up. Anger, shame, fear, guilt; he didn't know what it was that was stirring in his chest but he knew he had to tamp it down. “I didn't call you for a lecture.”

_“What did you call me for then?”_

Stiles took a moment to lean back in his chair and rub his hand over his eyes. “....I don't know. Personal advice I guess.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by that. The Variant _she_ knew didn't call people for personal advice. _“What about?”_

What indeed.

He could have asked about a many a number of things and the other Variant might have been able to offer some good practical advice based on normal life experiences, but Stiles wasn't sure where to start. How was he supposed to treat this Pack at school? How was he supposed to throw them off his trail without completely blowing them off and making them suspicious? How much of his dad's trust should he violate by breaking into the official police database? Was it really wrong to want to bring some weapons to school with him? Why was it so hard for him to assume this one final role in life and just be normal? How the _hell_ was he supposed to do homework when he was worried that these idiot fleabags were going to get themselves killed in the woods?

“I’m in way over my head,” Stiles admitted finally, putting his head in his hands. In response to that the other Variant sighed tiredly. “I can’t just _let_ them get killed because they're stupid!”

 _“I agree,”_ the woman replied easily. _“Get another Variant down there. One phone call from Zluta and anyone would jump on a plane to America_ tonight _and you know it.”_

Stiles groaned and rubbed his fingers roughly over his scalp, messing up his already unruly hair. Of course that thought had crossed Stiles mind. The solution to this problem was literally a phone call away but every time he considered it he thought about his dad wanting a new start for them, and his mom living in this very house for so many days out of the year when he was a kid. He thought about the Hales who’d made a family in this territory and he thought about these young Werewolves fighting every night against odds that were almost certainly never in their favor, managing to bungle things up completely because they had no real experience and no organization. The one thing he couldn't stand to think about though was letting some other Variant stick their nose in it. He could handle this himself….

But he _couldn't_ handle this himself.

He wanted to take care of this on his own.

But he didn't _want_ to take care of this.

Looking down when an ache ran through his arms Stiles realized his hands had curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. The faint bruises on his knuckles had gone a pale purple and flushed darker when the blood returned to his fingers.

Liath’s voice cut into his thoughts and he looked up at the screen. She was tapping her cheek pointedly and Stiles hand shot up to the side of his face. His palm was greeted with a warm, almost hot to the touch sensation buzzing through the sensitive skin. With his fingertips he traced the pattern of four long lines that ran from his forehead all the way down to his jaw. They were vivid against his pale skin and had they been made by real claws he no doubt would have lost an eye. They were some of the largest Markings he’d witnessed on his kind and even the Base Leaders had been impressed when he’d first Presented. They had expected great things from him.  

Stiles scrubbed his hand over the marks, shaking his head. “No one else needs to get involved,” he said finally.

“ _You involved me_ ,” Liath reminded him hotly.

Stiles frowned at her but couldn't stop the little niggle of doubt that crept into his mind. “That’s different,” he argued, “You’re…”

 _“A million miles away and already Declared to a pack?”_ she asked pointedly. “ _Someone who already promised not to let this leak out to the other Base Leaders because she already broke the rules digging into restricted files? Someone who grudgingly admits that you’re her superior even though you’re younger than her and therefore cannot tell you what to do?”_

Stiles sighed. “Come on, Liath, it’s not like that.”

 _“It_ is _like that, and to tell you the truth, Rua, the fact that you don't want another Variant to step in makes me think_ you _want to step in. Officially .”_ She enunciated the last word carefully. _“You’re mark flaring up makes me think it’s a Calling and I think you know that too.”_

“It's not,” Stiles insisted, even though it totally _was_ , god help him there was no way he was up to admitting that to himself let alone out loud.

The stare grew heavier and Liath closed her eyes. She disappeared from the screen as she moved her phone and Stiles could tell she was collecting herself. When she appeared again, less irritated looking, she asked, _“Can I tell something without you flying off the handle?”_

Stiles didn't want to make any promises. _“..._ Sure _?”_

 _“I get your reluctance,”_ Liath told him. “ _You don’t Declare. Everyone knows that. It’s your choice, obviously, and no one would ever question it. But that protectiveness your feeling? That's instinct_ . _It’s the_ Variant _in you,”_ she told him. _“That pull? That's what I feel about Sadie and her Pack. I_ have _to look out for them-”_ Stiles was already shaking his head, eyes closed as he tried to deny what the woman was saying but Liath continued _“-I_ have _to look out for them because they are_ mine. _I am here, and I see them, and I_ have _to protect them.”_

“No,” Stiles said firmly. “I won’t...I won’t do that here, Liath. I won't.”

 _“_ _No cry unheard, no pain unseen._ _”_ Liath almost looked sympathetic as she quoted the old verse and Stiles almost shut the laptop right then and there, not willing to travel down that twisted memory lane. Liath must have seen it on his face because she just said; _“We really don’t have a choice.”_

“I have to go,” Stiles bit out, his voice feeling raw. “Sorry. _Oíche mhaith,_ Liath,"

Liath replied softly before Stiles cut the connection. _“Oíche mhaith, Rua.“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irish  
> Oíche mhaith = good night
> 
> Next up, Stiles will be doing some illegal things and climbing some more trees. And yes, for those of you who caught it, there is more to the Poem/song I introduced at the beginning of the story.
> 
> Also, here is an alternate flashback scene I was considering. It didn't make the cut in the long run, but I  
> still like it. https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221034/chapters/28133328


	25. Laal Ladakee & Police Files

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...Oh,” Stiles breathed, staring at his phone. “...This is one fucked up rabbit hole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Okay, so I had totally planned on cranking out like 10 full chapters in this one after my last post in Anything for the Pack, and TOTALLY DID....for 10 different stories that have nothing to do with this one. I swear to god I have more started fics and random dialogue on my computer than anything else. I do apologize if there are mistakes. I need to go back and re-read what I had in previous chapters but I wanted to just get this damn thing up before my brain exploded. for those of you who have recently reread the story and have more attention to detail than I have at the moment, please let me know if I need to change anything. I'm CONSTANTLY editing older chapters.
> 
> Also guys, I speak no languages other than English and even that's questionable. I rely on my lovely bi-tri-superfly-lingual readers to help me fix my mistakes. Love you guys. You know who you are <33333

It was early the next morning -like 3am early- that Stiles decided it was time to break some laws. He hadn't been able to get much sleep after his talk with Liath and planning was really all could fill his time with.  He planned while he threw the rest of his pens and pencils into the ceiling above his bed, creating a near perfect circle. Committing a felony was what he’d settled on.

The choice had been between that and skipping class to avoid his responsibilities and the overall drama that was his fake college life, but the Variant in him loathed the idea of bailing out on something that was essentially his cover story and urged him to be proactive. Gather data, make a plan, act.

He heard his dad get up around 5, before the sun made an appearance outside his window. Stiles listened to the routine with his eyes closed. The Sheriff made the bed, took a shower, put on his uniform and grabbed his service weapon from one of many that were probably in a familiar black trunk with bold, foreign print on the sides. The man was quiet but not trying to be stealthy so Stiles could practically visualize every step the man made. If Johan wanted to he could stand right in front of someone and still be invisible but Sheriff John Stilinski had no reason to ninja his way around his own house. An hour and one cup of coffee later, footsteps stopped outside Stiles bedroom door, followed by a soft knock.

It was an unspoken rule that if the doors to either of their rooms were closed, you don’t open it. It wasn't so much a privacy thing but more of a, ‘ _I might get attacked by someone behind this door who has lots of reasons to see a counselor for PTSD.’_ A closed bedroom door meant ‘ _I need space._ ’ Both men respected that.

“Stiles?” John called softly.

Stiles licked his lips but didn't respond.

“You awake, _dítě?”_ The man asked a little more softly, just in case.

Letting out a small sigh, Stiles whistled a short note. Maybe it was being petty, this nonverbal communication, but Stiles was _feeling_ petty. He didn't have to pretend he wasn't mad when it was just him and his father here. There were no pretenses they had to keep up in front of strangers when they were alone in the house. As long as his dad knew he was awake and listening in some form or another he’d say what he needed to say and leave. A cop-out, maybe, but they communicated however they could.

“I’ve got some business out of town this morning but I’ll have my phone on.” _Call me if you need me_ was left unsaid.

Stiles clenched his teeth together.

“I’ll be home later in the evening.” There was a pause. “We should talk about yesterday.”

That almost had Stiles opening his mouth, wondering if what the man said next would stir up some forgiveness in his heart for keeping the ‘animal’ attacks from him.

“I know those files are a little pathetic, but it's a quiet town. If you want some more intel I’ll see what I can find.”

Nope. Lying. Straight to his face -well, though a door, but same thing. Stiles closed his eyes again, feeling the tension well up in his back and shoulders.

“See you tonight, son.”

The footsteps moved away from the door and Stiles felt his head shake in disappointment as he let out the small breath he’d been holding. “Sure,” He muttered to himself. “Sure.”

he ended up getting out of bed an hour later. A quick shower with a vigorous dousing of scent canceling soap and a cursory glance at the mirror had him rubbing his eyes. He looked wired. There were dark shadows under his eyes and he put his glasses on. His hair was left unstyled and he shoved a hat on his head. His knuckles were a little swollen but he took the bandages off and made sure that the sweatshirt he put on had sleeves that came down to his fingertips. He was pretty sure he looked like a proper college student now. Tired and a little pissed off.

He knew he was going to skip some classes today in order to go on his little scavenger hunt through the police records and he refused to think about just how much he was going to loathe seeing Scott and his friends. It was just a weird situation. The Werewolves were usually the ones he _didn't_ have to hid from. It was very surreal.

He grabbed a power bar from the stash in the kitchen on the way out and hopped into the Jeep. The smell of the lavender satchel hanging on the mirror soothed him slightly but in the end, he just sighed again and rubbed his eyes for the dozenth time since he woke up. “Okay man.” he told himself. “You can do this. Gather the data, make the plan, act.” He nodded and started the engine.

 

\---

 

One of the bummers of a small police station is that the people who worked there knew faces. They knew the faces of the locals, faces of the lawyers, and faces of the other officers so that ruled out a defence attorney alias or stealing a uniform and passing as another cop, which Stile actually really enjoyed because it was only a few years ago that he’d been able to pass for an ‘adult’ capable of having such a job. The innocent look worked well for him the rest of the time. Luckily though, Stiles already had an in being the Sheriff son. No disguise needed, only some smooth talk and charm.

The station was rather quiet but all the officers looked busy at their desks, walking around with reports in hand or taking calls. The officer at the front desk in the main lobby looked busy enough for two people, scribbling on a stack of papers in front of her with a phone pressed to her ear while her other hand tapped away on her keyboard. She was in the later end of her fifties, had streaks gray in her blonde hair and laugh lines around her eyes, but even though she had the look of a former soccer mom she still looked formidable with her broad shoulders, stern jaw, and polished badge on her uniform. Whomever she was on the phone with however seemed to be adding to her years exponentially.

“Yes, ma’am, I understand. Yes, we can send someone out right away. _No_ , no ma’am please do not try to handle this yourself. Ma’am- no, listen to me. Do NOT attempt to move your neighbors' car yourself.” She glanced up when Stiles walked up to the desk and looked him up and down with a discerning eye. Before he could say anything she held up a finger and gave him an apologetic smile. “Ma’am, if you do that you can be charged with damage of personal property. Do not attempt to unlock someone else's car- Ma’am! I’m sending someone over to-! ...God damnit.” She hung up roughly. “Marshal!” she called out loud enough that Stiles winced. “Mrs. Carter's neighbor parked in front of her house and she’s trying to move the car herself. Again.”

A man at his desk hollered back an affirmative and the woman shook her head with a sigh. The tag on her shirt read _Officer Parks_ and she turned her attention back to Stiles with a harried breath. “What can I do for you?”

Stiles could only smile kindly at the older woman, recognizing that look anywhere. He wondered how often this public servant had to put on a fake smile and push on. He held up a the fast food bag he’d picked up on the drive over. It crinkled and smelled of french fries and grease. “I’m here to see the Sheriff. Brought him a lunch.” If the ends of his sleeves happened to be pulled over his fingers, hiding his bruised knuckles, well, that was a coincidence.

Parks raised an eyebrow, clearly reserving judgement. “And you are?”

Stiles gave a little shrug and let the bag come back down to his side. “The offspring.”

Parks blinked and then a surprised grin broke out over her face. “Oh!” She exclaimed. “You're Stiles! I was wondering when we’d get to see you around here.” Her smile turned mischievous and she pointed her finger at him. “If any police vehicles go missing, you’ll be first on my suspect list.”

Now it was Stiles turn to be surprised because _what the hell John?_ What kind of picture was his dad painting of him? Delinquent car thief? Jesus Christ. Steal _one_ police cruiser when you were 17 because there was a drugged adolescent Werewolf in the back and you never live it down.

“I...learned my lesson,” Stile settled on, wondering if this meant he’d have to change his plan at all because his dad has warned his deputies about this criminal tendencies. “In fact, _this_ ,” he held up the bag, “Is part of my ongoing, lifetime punishment.”

Letting out a laugh, Parks shook her head. “Well, your dad won’t be back for another hour at least.”

Stiles did his best to look disappointed and not like it had been exactly what he'd been counting on. “Darn,” he said, looking forlorn. “I don't have class till noon today so I thought it would be a good day to drop lunch off and see if he had anything for me to do.”

“You can wait in the break room if you want,” Parks offered. “And if you're looking for something to do you can check with Deputy Parrish. He oversees volunteers.”

“Could I wait in my dad's office?” He asked. Parks hesitated and he hurried on. “Second part of my punishment is I'm sort of my dad's unpaid secretary. His office is always a mess and I’m an excellent organizer.”

Stiles could see the hesitation in the woman's eyes and she shook her head. “I don't think that’s a good idea, hon.”

“Oh, don't worry, I know what to stay out of,” Stiles assured her. “I actually want to go into law enforcement after graduation so I know how confidential official records are.” Shit, what was he majoring in again? Architecture? He was pretty sure it wasn't anything to do with law enforcement.

Parks still looked hesitant so he pulled out the big guns. Stiles leaned his elbows on the counter, looking appropriately shy and embarrassed for a 20 something-year-old man. He was far more comfortable lying to police officers than someone should be and he never regretted a single second of it, even when his dad was technically ‘one of them’. “Okay, I’ll be real with you Officer Parks. I know he keeps a stash of junk food in his office. The doctor says he needs to eat healthier and lay off the red meat so I like to clean him out every once and a while. Remind him that I’m still paying attention. This burger,” he said, pointing at the bag. “Veggie burger.” It wasn't, but she didn't need to know that.

The older woman was apparently a sucker for the doting son type and she made a fond noise, some of her reluctance melting away. “My daughter's the same way. Always making sure I never get any of the goodies so can live to be a hundred. Tell you the truth though, I’ve got my own secret stash in the break room. ”

“I won't breathe a word,” Stiles promised. “And if I find anything good i’ll give you a cut.”

Parks grinned. “You know it’s a felony to bribe a police officer.“

Stiles shrugged with a little smile. “Think of it as me wanting to be on good terms with the people I’ll be working with some day.”

Parks chuckled before she glanced to both sides, eyeing Stiles for a final time before smiling at him. “Okay. Go ahead and wait in there but keep the door open and don’t mess with any of the paperwork, okay. Want me to give your dad a call to let him know you’re here?”

Stiles knew word would eventually get around to his dad that he’d been at the station. His father's’ own natural suspicion would make him wonder what his son had been up to and therefore, Stiles already had his excuse in mind and was glad for their argument about the files the night before. He was simply delivering food as a peace offering and that was that. He would gladly suck up his anger -at least on the surface- and pretend he wasn’t angry anymore so long as he got what he was looking for. If his father wanted to dig further he could knock himself out. The Sheriff wouldn't even find Stiles fingerprints on the keyboard.

Stiles shook his head at Officer Parks offer. “No, that's fine. I’ll just kill some time till I have to head to class.” With a small wave, Stiles turned towards his dad's office, keeping the innocent smile on his face while drawing as little attention to himself as possible.

The Sheriff's office was actually pretty organized which did not surprise Stiles at all. His father had a system because he worked wherever there was space. Traveling around as he did as a Base Leader meant that he had to know where pertinent information was at all times in case of an emergency. Still, he had taken over for a previous Sheriff of Beacon Hills and this was probably the first time the man had an actual office with _file cabinets_.

Stiles sat down at the desk after piling some papers to the side and stacking them neatly in a pile. They were some random reports and billing expenses but nothing important. Johan would never leave important documents out in the open.

With his free hand, Stiles discretely pulled out a thin USB cord from his sweatshirt pocket and plugged it into the desktop below the desk. A moment later his phone blinked to life. A screensaver of a sheriffs star badge bounced of the edges of the screen like a warning which Stiles ignored.

Making sure the fact that he was on the phone was clear, Stiles turned away from the computer screen, propping his feet up on the desk and leaning back in the chair. He glanced up to see Officer Parks watching him from the reception desk. He gave her a smile and her eyes crinkled, not able to see that he was actually hijacking the sheriff's computer. Jovana had taught him some pretty interesting things about codes while he’d been with the Tylka pack. The current Serbian language app installed on his phone was a little gem of hers that allowed him access to other devices files without leaving so much as a digital fingerprint. Honestly, he’d considered presenting it to the other Base Leaders as a tool, but thought better of it in the end. They didn't need to be even more nosey than they already were.  

The first thing Stiles did was download all of the reports on the recent animal attacks his father had neglected to tell him about. There were about a dozen over the last three months which was just not cool, especially when one of them happened only two days ago in the Preserve. Stile supposed that if he talked to people more or had dusted off his old police scanner he might have heard about it sooner. He’d read those later and try to figure out what little beasties were causing problems and how he was going to deal with them before the resident Failwolves tried anything heroic.

A cursory search of domestic disturbance reports and anonymous tips told him that no one had reported anything suspicious in regards to his bunch of Bounty Hunters, meaning that they were at least doing a good job of lying low. A low profile for them worked in Stiles favor because it would be easier to dispatch them if no one knew they were here.

The next thing he searched was his new hangers-on. He was going to get some real answers now; not just the bare bones his dad had given him. Even if these guys had done nothing wrong -unlikely- the BHPD database would have standard records from background searches and national database profiles. Hell, he could even look at old educational records if he wanted. This would be helpful because even if it didn't outright say “supernatural” in big red letters, Stiles could read between the lines.

He only knew a few last names -blame it on his lack of social skills- but it turned out that was all he needed. Each file gave him new information to search and new attachments to open, each one pulling him further and further into what he could only compare to an _Alice in Wonderland_ type rabbit hole. Alone, they weren't suspicious, but together, well, the more files that opened the more blood Stiles felt drain from his face.

His fingers stopped abruptly over his phone and he prayed Officer Parks wasn't still looking at him. If she was she would have seen the momentary look of turmoil that found a way to slip past his mask. Not a whole hell of a  lot shocked the Variant but the name glaring up at him was enough to steal his breath for a moment, his mind reeling.

“...Oh,” Stiles breathed, staring at his phone. “...This is one fucked up rabbit hole.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Oslo Airport, Gardermoen, Norway. August. 12 years ago.**

 

At night, Miecysław’s  was given a crash course in the signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He learned things that he wasn't really old enough to understand but he knew that if he was going to keep working with his mother he’d have to learn how to deal with it, and deal with it _quietly_.

Not many departures or arrivals occurred at a small airport in the middle of nowhere, especially at this time of night which was perhaps why Czesława had chosen it instead of the airport closer to where they’d been staying. They were waiting by their gate for a small charter plane that would take them to a larger airport and then to Canada where their next job was waiting. The boy had asked his mom why she was so excited to leave and so eager to get to Canada and he’d managed to glean from her that the pack that had requested help was a large one. A large family.

Czesława had been excited to leave that morning and bid a hasty goodbye to their now former charges before they left. The Vampire/Werewolf couple had been so relieved to get their daughter back safely that even their concern for the state of Miecysław’s injury had not been enough to ask them to say for a few more days.

Miecysław, his arm properly cleaned, stitched up, and bandaged, sat on the hard plastic waiting chairs with his bag on his lap. It held some changes of clothes and protective padding but most of their weapons were in his mom's bag which was specially lined to pass metal detectors. His mother had taken up a few chairs by reclining on them and her head rested on top of the bag. The boy glanced down at her sleeping face, keeping very still where he sat so as not to disturb her. The woman's rosy features had lost some of their color as she slept and her brows were drawn together, eyes moving back and forth under the lids. Her body was stiff, fingers clenched into the fabric of her coat and every now and then she would flinch, almost imperceptibly, as though getting ready to fend off an attack.

So, Miecysław waited, occasionally looking at the clock on the wall as the time drew closer for their plane to arrive. After what seemed like an hour -though only ten minutes had passed- his mother opened her eyes and sat up with a gasp. Her hand went to her belt where a small knife was hidden in the buckle but she didn’t draw. She only looked around the dim airport frantically and within seconds her eyes landed on her son next to her.  She deflated, relief washing over her face as she pulled the boy close and kissed the top of his head twice.

“Oh, _młody wilk,_ thank goodness.” She held him tight and kissed him again, rocking him gently.  

Miecysław stayed silent, expression one of trained neutrality. He remembered that if he looked worried his mother grew anxious. If he laughed she would be hurt. If he asked what was wrong she would get mad. When her grip lessened to only minorly uncomfortable and she’d stopped making little-distressed noises in the back of her throat, he knew it was safe to speak.

“ _Nie martw si_ ,” he assured her. “I’m here.”

His mother breathed out. “I know,” she said. “I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She let out a tired sigh and rubbed her son’s shoulder soothingly, her fingertips brushing over the edge of the bandage. “We’ll get a good nap on the plane,” she assured him, as though that was what he was concerned about.  

Miecysław squeezed his bag tight and leaned into his mother's embrace.  “Can we call _tatínek_ when we land?” he asked softly and he felt his mother nod.

“Of course we can.” She gave him a squeeze and kissed the top of his head once more. “He’s going to be so proud of how well you’re doing. I wouldn't trade you for all the other Variants in the world.”

Miecysław could only nod. He knew his mother was telling the truth. She didn't like being around other Variants anymore; in fact, she’d latched onto him like a lifeline. Even as young as he was Miecysław could see that. That's why his father was trusting him to look after her.  

“The plane should arrive soon,” the woman said, glancing at the clock. “We’ll be in Canada in less than 24 hours. “ Her chin rested on top of her sons head and nuzzled him. “Are you excited to meet the new Pack?”

The boy replied, not knowing if it was true or not; "Yes." He didn't feel excited about another job. It was just one more in a long line of them. His mother always seemed happy for more work though and Miecysław just hoped that it was enough to satisfy her. For the time being, he could just concentrate on the feel of her strong arms wrapped around him and he curled into her warmth. She smelled like lavender and soap and he remembered cuddling up next to her like this when he was younger before he had Presented. Everything had been a little easier then.

“Can you tell me a story?” Miecysław requested quietly, wanting to hear a familiar voice for a while. The need for a little normalcy hit him so hard he didn't even feel embarrassed by asking for one. “Tell me about _malá lovkyně.”_

Czesława combed her fingers through the boy's hair and hummed. “You’ve heard all the Little Huntress stories, my _młody wilk._ Maybe you should tell _me_ one.”

Miecysław shook his head. “I’m not as good at it. I like it better when you tell them.”

His mother chuckled lightly and leaned back in the chair, considering. “Alright. I suppose I haven't told you Deepalis’ version in a while. Don't tell her how badly I mispronounce Hindi words.”  Miecysław nodded in agreement. He never told Benoit how his mother butchered French words so he saw no reason to tell the other Base Leader either. His mother took a breath and began.

 

Laal Ladakee; _the Red Girl, was the daughter of a Wise Woman, a fierce Hunter, and the sister of a great Trapmaker. They had all vanished years ago, leaving_ Laal Ladakee _by herself when she was very young. Every morning she would carry water from the river to her home and every afternoon she would go into the jungle with her fathers knife and lay the traps her brother had taught her to make. The sun was hot, even though the jungles leaves, but she continued to move water and hunt, day after day, year after year. Many suitors in her village tried to win her hand, bringing her jewelry and fine cloth, food and wine, but none of it pleased her._ Laal Ladakee  _wore her father's leather hunting bracelets and preferred the red_ churidar _her mother made. She only ate the food she caught herself and preferred to drink the water from the river. “The villagers began to whisper that she was cursed for it wasn't normal to be still unwed at her age. After her 17th birthday, the proposals dithered away, for no trinket could catch the eye of a Wise Woman's child, no kill would impress the Hunter’s daughter, and no sharpness of wit could ensnare the attention of the Trapmaker's sister._

 

Czesława whispered in his ear, her breath brushing his cheek. “Strong women can’t be bought my _młody wilk_ _,_ remember that,” she said. “Strong people do not have a price.” The boy nodded.

 

 _One evening, someone in the village saw_ Laal Ladakee _return from the jungle carrying something larger than a water pitcher and larger than what was safe to hunt with her traps. In the market, someone heard her saying; “My_ bhaee _has returned! My brother has finally come home and my parents will soon follow!”_

 _The villager who had heard this told the village elder, a Witch Woman who could commune with the spirits, and she went to see for herself, not believing that the Trapmaker would be alive after all these years. She went into_ Laal Ladakees _home in the afternoon when she knew the girl would be in the jungle. As soon as she stepped into the darkness of the house a terrible growl shook the walls. The Witch Woman cried out in fear, throwing her withered hands up as she spat out hexes and curses. The growling only grew louder and a wolf stepped out of the shadows. It was thin and scarred, its fur the color of the desert sand to the east of their village. Its eyes were gold like the metal from far off lands and they seemed to stare into the old womans soul with the intelligence of a man. “Witch woman,” the wolf spoke. “You would attack_ Laal Ladakee’s _brother?”_

_The Witch Woman ran from the house in fear._

 

Miecysław remembered that when he was younger he would interrupt here, asking how _Laal Ladakee’s_ brother became a wolf. His mother would tell him that he’d been gone for so long that he changed to survive. After all, the jungle was large and there were many dangerous things there.

 

 _When_ Laal Ladakee _returned with her traps full she saw that her house was surrounded by people carrying weapons and fire. Dropping her prizes_ Laal Ladakee _ran past the crowd and threw open the door to her home to find the Wolf lying on the floor, injured and weak. “What have you done?” She cried “What have you done to my brother?”_

_“The Beast has eaten him!” the Witch Woman told her. “It speaks with a human tongue and has the eyes of a demon!”_

Laal Ladakee _was furious. They had hurt her brother after he’d been gone for so long! She tried to reason with them, explain to them, but the villagers did not listen. They called her cursed child; wretched woman, and they called the wolf a Beast. So ould was their hate and fear that they did not hear her. They threw fire brush onto her roof, demanding that she bring the wolf out or be burned along with it._ _Before_ Laal Ladakee _could draw her fathers knife the wolf spoke. He asked to go outside but he was so weak he could not stand on his own._ Laal Ladakee _knew he would be killed instantly and she would not let that happen; not after he came all the way back to her._

_Suddenly the wolf raised his paw and placed it on the girl's cheek. She felt the warmth of his blood on her skin mix with her tears. He urged her to run into the jungle and find their mother and father who had changed as he had. Protect them, he said, for they will know no peace in the village of Men. The villagers would kill their Beast one way or another._

_But_ Laal ladakees _will was strong. She had carried heavy jars every morning from the river and her father's knife was light in her hand. She was smart. Her traps were the best in the village. She was wise. She was her mother's daughter._ _As smoke started to fill the house she got to her feet and locked her door. She crushed an herb of ash and flower and poured it into her water jug, mixing it well. She told the injured wolf drink as she gently stroked its side. Slowly, the pain lifted from the wolf's eyes and soon after the light lifted from them as well._

 

Mieczysław was always confused by this part. He knew it was meant to be a kindness what _Laal ladakee_ did for the dying wolf, but recent circumstances shed a new light on the story for him. “Could her brother have talked to the villagers?” he asked.

“Maybe,” his mother replied after a moment of thought, “but _Laal ladakee_ knew he was dying and she didn't want him to suffer anymore. She wanted to protect him."

 

Laal ladakee _wept for the wolf until her home started to creak around her, threatening to collapse. To fight off the flames she picked herself up from the floor and poured the rest of the water over her head. The blood on her check starts to burn, the herb setting the wolfs blood on fire until it became one with her skin.  She unlocked her door, stepping out to meet the villagers, her red_ churidar _stained darker with the wolfs blood and her own tears. They would not harm her brother while she was here. They would not harm her mother or father either._

 _She left the village that day and walked into the jungle with nothing but the clothes on her back, ash on her feet, and the wolf's trust on her skin. To this day the villagers fear the jungle and warn their children against entering it alone, for if a hunter steps inside they will meet_ Laal ladakee, _with her father's knife, her brother's traps, and her mother's wisdom. They will hear the sounds of the creature's feet on the ground and glimpse her red_ churidar _amongst the green leaves. They remember the scar on her face and they remember what they did._

 

Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she finished and then she started to hum. As his mother started to hum Miecysław allowed his eyes to slip shut, pretending he was in a bed, his mother beside him while his father listened from the door with a soft smile on his face, just like they'd done when he was younger.

Her voice sounded muted in the empty airport; haunting as the fluorescent lights flickered above them. She breathed softly against his hair as she started to recite the familiar words; the comforting lullaby he’d heard since he was a baby.

“Do you know what comes next?” She asked softly. Mieczysław knew. He knew all the stories and songs by heart.

 

_Protect, defend, resolve to keep the pledge of Red upon your cheek._

 

_With fist, and sword, and bow, and knife, you shall walk and meet the strife._

 

_A promise set in blood and trust, a heeded call to avenge the just._

 

_No cry unheard, no pain unseen, no wrong escapes if guilty deemed_

 

_Take up arms oh child of mine; a troubled heart shall be your sign_

 

_When Beast and Blood in conflict side, in chaos’ wake Death shall ride._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we are getting to some...nice little traumatic moments here. I will be posting up warnings at the starts of the next few chapters for those of you who like to be warned. 
> 
> dítě?- son  
> młody wilk- little wolf  
> Nie martw si - don't worry  
> tatínek- dad  
> malá lovkyně -little huntress. 
> 
> Hindi  
> Laal Ladakee - Red Girl  
> churidar - Article of clothing worn by men and woman in India.  
> bhaee- brother


End file.
